


A Different Program

by Nikanaiko



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Exchange Student AU, M/M, Slow Burn, Underage Kissing, de-aged by one year, leoji, likely mentions of victuri in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8592382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikanaiko/pseuds/Nikanaiko
Summary: Guang-Hong Ji was a very shy boy. He wasn't a risk-taker, and he was rarely enthusiastic when it came to meeting new people, which was exactly why he managed to surprise everyone he knew, even himself, when he decided to sign up for an international exchange program. Not that it stopped him. He was prepared for the culture shock, the strangers, even the strange food.What he hadn't been prepared for was Leo de la Iglesia.





	1. The High Dive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You dance with your headphones on, and I could watch you all night long, dancing to someone else's song." --Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness

Guang-Hong had yet to decide what he thought about airports. He’d never been in one before that day, but now that he’d seen a few, they’d...honestly done little to help him shape an opinion. At times, they were chaotic, intense, so busy that he could barely keep his head from swimming right off his shoulders, but most of the time, they were calm, quiet, near-empty, and Guang-Hong almost wanted to say that they were boring...if not for the chaotic yang to their yin.

If Guang-Hong absolutely had to choose a word to describe his experience, however, the word he would have chosen was “surreal”. It was weird, wandering around at ten o’clock at night in a strange, oddly sterile room and knowing he was in the Philippines. It was like being in a magical land, knowing there were unicorns and fairies just outside the gray-and-plexiglass walls that surrounded him, and yet, being unable to go out and see them for himself. After all, he only had three hours--which hadn’t seemed like a long time at all until he’d been forced to sit through it--before his plane would take off, and he was petrified at the idea of missing his flight.

So he sat in that wide-open, surprisingly empty room for the better part of those three hours, tucked into a gray seat at his terminal, eating with his ankle trapped in his suitcase handle just in case anyone tried to take advantage of his full hands. And when those three hours were up, that magical land he hadn’t even had the chance to look at properly was nothing but a memory, and Guang-Hong was back in the sky, squinting to try to see the textured tops of cirrus clouds in the moonlight and wondering what his new family would be like.

Well, his temporary family. His family until May.

The de la Iglesia family.

He’d been told they weren’t a traditional family. Four kids and a single mother. Apparently, the youngest in the family was in the exchange program as well, which meant Guang-Hong would probably only meet the four of them. They lived in San Francisco, and that, well...that was all the information Guang-Hong would be given.

More than nine months spent with a family of total strangers…

The idea had Guang-Hong’s thumbnail tearing apart between his teeth even as he stepped back on solid ground. What was left of it, at least. He’d managed to get some sleep on the ride to the United States, but between the coach seats and the anxiety of knowing that he was about to meet the people he’d be spending the better part of the next year with, most of those ten hours were just spent shaking, trying not to think about it.

Not to say he wasn’t excited. He was. Getting to see the country--even the state--where most of his favorite movies had been produced...honing his English skills to the point where he’d be able to understand them in their original language without needing to concentrate quite so much...and learning more about American culture firsthand… Of course it was exciting. But it was terrifying, too. What if his host family didn’t like him? What if he was stuck, for months, in a house full of people who gave him dirty looks every time he lifted his head?

He was still worrying when he saw the trio of home-made signs waving at him from Arrivals. Three signs made of ordinary eight-by-eleven printer paper and black marker. Three signs reading three different, shakily-drawn Chinese characters. Three signs calling out for a “Ji Hong-Guang”.

Oh.

That _was_ supposed to be _his_ name, right? After all, this was America. So few people spoke Mandarin here. They probably looked up his name on the Internet and mixed up the letters a little bit. Probably. Unless there was someone arriving with an incredibly similar name.

Well, that was possible, wasn’t it? What if there was someone with a name that close to his? After all, there were only three people. Wasn’t there supposed to be a fourth? But maybe the fourth had gone to the bathroom. That might have even been why the letters were mixed up, because he’d handed his to someone else.

Guang-Hong swallowed hard. There was no way around it. He’d have to ask.

Heart pounding in his ears, Guang-Hong approached the trio, the wheels of his suitcase rattling behind him as he dragged it across the deep blue carpet.

The oldest of the group, a middle-aged woman with sun-kissed skin and thick, black hair tied back into a ponytail, noticed him first. She turned her head, and there was a distinct, kind, motherly look in her eye, one that already had Guang-Hong hoping that this was his host-mother.

He didn’t even have to say “Excuse me” before the woman spoke.

“Are you Guang-Hong Ji?” asked the woman.

Relief flooded through Guang-Hong’s body. He tried to hide it, standing as straight as he could. He nodded shyly, not trusting himself to speak.

The woman offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said sweetly. “My name is Elena de la Iglesia. These are my children. Well, half of them, at least. Isabela--” Her daughter deposited a pink phone into her pocket so her hands were free to wave. “--and Enrique.” The man to her right, a surprisingly-muscled person who looked to be in his early-to-mid-twenties, offered his hand as well. Guang-Hong made sure to shake both offered to him, no matter how weird it felt to touch total strangers. Different culture, different rules.  
  
“It’s nice to meet you,” said Guang-Hong. The words had barely made their way through his mouth when he began to second-guess them. His English was normally really good, but he was so nervous that he immediately began to worry that he’d put the words of that simple phrase in the wrong order.

“Oh, my gosh!” squealed the girl, Isabela. “Your accent is so cute!”

Guang-Hong, whose natural rosy complexion made him seem like he was permanently blushing regardless of the situation, burned an even darker shade of red.  
  
“Isabela,” chided Elena before saying something that...wasn’t English? Guang-Hong paled. That wasn’t English, right? It wasn’t just that his entire understanding of the language had flown through the window the second he’d gotten nervous?

The woman seemed to sense his anxiety and her expression softened into a welcoming smile. “Don’t worry. We’re an English-speaking household for the most part. You won’t be left out of the loop. For now, let’s worry about getting you out of the airport, all right?”

Guang-Hong’s stomach growled before he could actually voice his response.

Elena’s smile widened with a warmth Guang-Hong had never even seen in his own mother. “We’ll talk about what you like to eat on the way home.”

The way home… Guang-Hong supposed that’s what it was. Home until May.

He nodded.

The ride to the de la Iglesia residence was...awkward. No one knew quite what to say or how to react. It was new and strange for each of them. Guang-Hong was in the back seat, unfortunately stuck next to Isabela.

To say that he disliked Isabela wasn’t entirely correct. He didn’t think poorly of her. He just wished that he would have been able to sit next to Enrique instead. He was more Guang-Hong’s speed.

“Sorry about the smell,” said Elena, looking at Guang-Hong from the rear-view mirror.

Guang-Hong, who had noticed the odd-smelling air freshener from the moment he’d climbed in, shook his head. “It’s fine,” he insisted, but, to be quite honest, it did smell pretty foul. At least the air outside smelled good. Great, even. Much better than Shanghai, to be honest. But he wasn’t about to subject the entire car to August’s summer fury just because he didn’t care for the smell.

“You’re really quiet,” noted Isabela suddenly, reminding Guang-Hong why he would have preferred to sit by Enrique.

Before Guang-Hong could remember how to make his voice work, Elena thankfully answered for him. “You would be quiet, too, if you weren’t used to the language around you.”

Well, it was part true, at least. Being in America did take Guang-Hong’s already-quiet nature and multiply it. However, being quiet was nothing new.

“Well, we’ll just have to fix that,” said Isabela, throwing an arm over Guang-Hong’s shoulders with a playful wink. “You won’t be able to get through a year of being around us without learning how to be a loudmouth, I promise.”

Guang-Hong sat straighter, going rigid in his seat. He wasn’t used to such constant touching, nor had he been expecting it. Were all Americans this touchy, or was it just Isabela? Guang-Hong knew to expect small amounts of contact like shaking hands and such long before boarding the plane to America, but all of this was more than he’d been prepared for. What was more, Guang-Hong wasn’t sure whether that was necessarily a bad thing. After all, wasn’t that the point of the program? To learn about different cultures and let them influence your personality? But how much did Guang-Hong really want to change? He’d been plummeted into this new world and to see something so different so fast--

“Isabela,” chided Enrique, who, up to this point, had been just as quiet as Guang-Hong had been. “Leave him alone. He’s in a new country. Anyone would be nervous.”

“Aren’t you excited, though?” asked Isabela, and though she--thankfully--retreated, her smile did not. It never had, ever since the moment they met. If Guang-Hong were to find out that it was permanently glued to her face, he wouldn’t have been surprised. “New worlds, new people…”

Guang-Hong nodded quietly. “Yes,” he said softly, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. “I am.” And watching the world bend around hills and road work through the window, seeing the world transform as they suddenly dropped down a hill’s sudden descent, Guang-Hong knew that was the truth.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a two-story house that seemed to be half brick, half simply brick-colored. Enrique, who was much, much larger than tiny Guang-Hong, offered to carry the large suitcase inside, which Guang-Hong was very grateful for when he saw the stairs that led to the front door. There may have only been three of them, but for a suitcase that heavy, that was three too many. Guang-Hong did, however, keep his carry-on bag draped over his shoulders, if solely to have something to do with his hands.

And it was a good thing, too, because entering the de la Iglesia home proved to be more nerve-wracking than Guang-Hong could have guessed.

The second the door was opened, Guang-Hong was immediately struck by surprise. Surprise that he hadn’t been able to hear this deafening music from outside, because the second the door was no longer there to muffle it, Guang-Hong was sure that his eardrums must have exploded. He winced and gripped the strap over his shoulders as tightly as he could, turning his knuckles white in lieu of covering his ears and making a rude first impression on his host family.

From his right, Enrique said...something--or perhaps mouthed it, for all Guang-Hong could hear--before storming forward. Guang-Hong followed close behind, not even stopping to ask if he should take off his shoes, too afraid of being left behind, even with every muscle in his body recoiling from every beat of the song. _LOVE--ME--HATE--ME--SAY WHAT--YOU WANT--ABOUT--ME--_ His ears were already ringing. Who listened to music this loud? Who could stand it?

The answer to that question, apparently, was a teenage boy, Guang-Hong’s age or perhaps a little older. His long, brown hair--lighter than the rest of his family’s--caught the light with every animated snap of his head, reflecting just a bit of red whenever it greeted the sun. His arms were bare, uncovered by his tank top, showing off lean muscle that flexed with every energetic pump downward, guiding his nervous audience’s gaze down to his open thighs. The boy had his eyes closed, apparently too lost in the music to so much as notice that anyone else had joined him in the living room.

No longer caring about the volume of the music, Guang-Hong froze, lips barely parted. Did no one think to warn him? How was he supposed to deal with the knowledge that he’d be spending the next nine months with someone so...so cool?

Guang-Hong had no idea who this boy was, yet somehow, he was starstruck from first sight.

The music came to an abrupt end when Enrique reached the stereo. Guang-Hong wondered briefly how it was possible for the bass to continue when the melody had already ended. It took a few seconds for him to realize that the pounding was not coming from the speakers, but from his own head.

“Leo,” snapped Enrique, sounding quiet in contrast to the previously-blaring music. “What are you doing?”

“Practicing,” said the boy. _Leo_? “Wasn’t that the whole reason you guys made me stay behind in the first place?” He grinned, and in that face, Guang-Hong immediately recognized Elena. Leo had inherited his mother’s kind eyes. And it was that same warm gaze that immediately darted toward Guang-Hong, sending goosebumps crawling up his arms. He waved amiably and Guang-Hong wanted to shuffle behind something like a child, but there was nothing to hide behind. No mother’s skirt to cover his face with. He was on his own.

Enrique flicked Leo’s forehead, stealing his attention back. “You can practice without making the whole street listen to Britney Spears, Leo.”

“Come on,” said Leo, his smile shrinking a centimeter or two. “It wasn’t that loud.”

“It was pretty loud,” insisted Enrique.

“Eh,” said Leo dismissively, pushing Enrique’s arm out of the way so that he could stride past him, toward his guest. “Hey! Guang-Hong, right?”

Guang-Hong nodded, too nervous to say anything at all.

“I’m Leo.” The boy offered his hand.

Guang-Hong eyed it anxiously.

Leo looked back down at his hand and laughed. “Whoops. Sorry. Guess I’m sweatier than I thought.” He curled his fingers in and dropped his hand without giving Guang-Hong any opportunity to explain that his shyness had less to do with that and more to do with how untouchable Leo had seemed after even that brief glimpse of a performance. “We’ll save that for later. How was the trip over?”

“...Long,” admitted Guang-Hong sheepishly.

“I figured,” said Leo. “How long?”

“Um…” Guang-Hong peered at the stereo that had just been turned off, stealing a glance at the time, and did some quick time-zone conversions in his head. “Seventeen hours, I think?”

“Yikes,” said Leo. “There’s no way I could stand sitting down for that long.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” said Guang-Hong quietly. “I slept through most of it.” Or he’d tried to, at least.

“He speaks!” gasped Isabela’s dramatic chirp from another room. Apparently, she had come in another way alongside her mother, who audibly scolded her again.

Guang-Hong squeezed his shoulder strap again.

Leo’s smile turned sympathetic. “Don’t worry about her. That’s just Isa’s way of saying she wants to know you better.”

Guang-Hong supposed that made sense.

“No one’s forcing you to talk if you’re too shy,” said Leo. “But I’m looking forward to getting to know you, too. Welcome to the US.” He took a step back. “I think I’m gonna take a shower before I scare you back to China with my armpits.”

Leo waved again, more jovially than before, and disappeared around an archway.

Enrique clapped a hand on Guang-Hong’s shoulder, making him nearly jump a foot in the air. Thankfully, Enrique didn’t laugh at the response, no matter how sure Guang-Hong was that he’d felt it.

“Come on,” he said. “Your bedroom’s downstairs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criticize me. Tell me what I'm doing wrong grammatically, culturally, socially. Tear me apart. I try to do research when it comes to writing characters from different cultures, but I definitely have plenty of room for improvement. If I do something culturally insensitive, for the love of god, let me know. I live in an area that's 99% white and I've lived here most of my life. I don't really have any good sources when it comes to writing racially diverse characters, but I just love these two too much not to give them some attention. Rip into me. Kick my ass. Especially if you're Hispanic, Latino, or of Chinese descent. If I do something wrong, I need to know. Seriously. I can't emphasize that enough.
> 
> Oh, and fair warning? Chapters WILL get longer. I'm still figuring out what I'm doing with this story, but I know what kind of a writer I am. I set sail first, figure out a heading later, and once I do figure out that heading, it's full speed ahead. Until then...short chapters.


	2. It's My Turn to Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I fill my lungs with fear and I exhale." --The Urge

Leo de la Iglesia was not a particularly emotional person under normal circumstances. When he _was_ upset, he usually reacted by shutting himself down, closing himself off. But this?

This was his baby sister, damn it.

“Oh, Leo…” Laura lowered herself onto the edge of his bed beside where he sat and pulled him down far enough that the top of his head was tucked under her chin. “Don’t cry. You’re going to make _me_ cry.”

“What did you expect?” asked Leo, the barest of bittersweet smiles on his face as he held onto his little sister as tight as he could. “Who am I supposed to annoy with my loud music when you’re gone?”

“Trust me,” said Laura, “Enrique gets plenty annoyed.”

“But he’s upstairs,” insisted Leo. “You’re right outside my door. It’s not the same.”

“Well, now Guang-Hong’s going to be right outside your door,” said Laura. “You can annoy him all you want. Or maybe…” Her sympathetic smile widened. “Maybe he’ll love your music as much as you do.”

Leo pulled himself away from the hug, looking almost offended as he sat upright. “No one loves my music as much as I do.”

Laura laughed and cuffed a few abandoned tears away from Leo’s cheeks. “Well, maybe he’ll like it just enough for the two of you to be best friends.” She stood from the edge of the bed and offered her hand to help her brother do the same.

“You’re my best friend, Laura,” insisted Leo as he reached his full height, three inches taller than his little sister.

“I think I’m willing to share the title,” said Laura. “As long as it’s with someone who deserves it.” She took both of Leo’s hands in hers. “This will be good for both of us. You’ll see. We’ll get to broaden our horizons, learn more about the world… And we’ll still be able to Skype on the weekends, so we can talk all about our new experiences. You can tell me if Guang-Hong turns out to be the most stubbornly Chinese person ever or if he inserts himself so seamlessly to American culture that he turns out to be boring.”

“And you’ll get to tell me the same thing about yourself,” said Leo. “I’ll be there every Saturday night at five, on the dot.” He pulled a hand back and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, Sunday morning for you, I guess. Man, that’s so weird. You’re gonna be so far away. It’s like you’re going to a different planet.”

“I know,” said Laura. “But that’s what’s fun about it.”

“And you’ll keep me updated if you’re too busy on Sunday to make it?” asked Leo. “So I won’t worry?”

“I promise,” swore Laura, drawing an invisible X-shape over her heart.

Several hugs and one kiss to the top of a head later, Leo stood in his front doorway, watching his family disappear around the corner. He stood that way for several seconds, already lonely, melancholy...guilty for not being able to spend that extra half-hour for his little sister.

But then his brain kicked back into gear and he remembered why it was that he needed to stay at home in the first place.

Sighing, he closed the front door and retreated back into the house proper. If the only way he could chase his loneliness away was to dance, he was going to have as much fun with it as he could.

He tied his bangs back, exchanged his t-shirt for a breezier tank-top, and grabbed a mix-CD from his bedroom. When he popped it into the family stereo, he didn’t stop turning the volume up until he felt the bass climb up from his feet all the way to his hips.

It didn’t matter how much sweat was soaked into Leo’s hair or clothes. It didn’t matter that his lungs were pleading for air or that his thighs were on fire from the near-unbreaking horse stance that his choreography put him through. Nothing mattered but the music. The music that numbed his brain and let the guilt fade away like the colors on a sun-bleached soda bottle. The music that hypnotized him, letting his muscle memory do all the work until every step combination, every flick of his wrist became natural. The music that filled Leo with confidence that everything was perfect, even when he knew deep down that Nadine needed to look him over and fix whatever had gotten sloppy. Regardless, Leo had finally reached a point where he was proud of how natural every move had become, how every step seamlessly flowed into the next, and he’d managed to let all of the pain wash away completely.

At least, until the music stopped.

Leo froze, his eyes flying open and darting toward the “play/pause” button on the stereo, then following the finger pressed against it all the way to his brother, Enrique.

Oh. They were back.

“Leo,” scolded Enrique. “What are you doing?”

“Practicing,” said Leo, who was sure that his brother knew damn well that there was more to it than just that. “Wasn’t that the whole reason you guys made me stay behind in the first place?” Well, maybe not the whole reason. Part of it. The other part was that they didn’t know how much luggage Guang-Hong was going to bring with him and they wanted extra room in the back seat just in case.

Leo’s eyes darted down, suddenly noticing the wheeled suitcase Enrique had parked next to his feet. He followed the imagined path from the suitcase’s destination to its starting position and on the way there, he found the bag’s counterpart, this one hanging from a pair of narrow shoulders. Guang-Hong’s shoulders.

He was small in every sense of the word. Short, slim, and carrying almost no stage presence whatsoever. In fact, the longer he stood in the archway, the more he seemed to be trying to curl into himself, as if he wanted to vanish entirely.

Leo waved with what he hoped was a comforting smile, and he got a nervous shuffle and a bowed head in return. He could already tell just how shy Guang-Hong was. How someone like that had made it a half-lap around the world on his own, Leo might never know. Maybe it was a testament to how brave he really was, that he could face his own anxieties to get where he wanted to be.

Leo already wanted to talk to him, but before he could so much as open his mouth to get the boy’s attention, he was cut short with a quick flick to his forehead.

 _Ow_.

“You can practice without making the whole street listen to Britney Spears, Leo,” chided Enrique.

“Come on,” said Leo. “It wasn’t _that_ loud.” But he knew it was. And he knew that Enrique knew.

Enrique probably knew why, too. It would certainly explain his gentle tone when he insisted, “It was pretty loud.”

Leo reached up and pushed Enrique’s hand--primed for either an understanding pat or a second flick--out of the way, nonverbally signaling that he would talk about it later, when they were alone, as opposed to airing out his feelings around a new potential friend.

“Hey!” greeted Leo once he was within hand-shaking range, his smile having quickly returned to his face. “Guang-Hong, right?”

The boy nodded. Or, at least, that’s what Leo supposed he did. Aside from the slightest twitch of his hair, there was hardly any indication he’d moved at all.

“I’m Leo,” said the older of the two boys, offering his hand. When Guang-Hong didn’t take it immediately, Leo thought briefly that it might have been just his shyness or some cultural difference that kept him from touching a stranger.

Then Leo looked down at his own hand.

 _Yeesh_ , he thought, eyeing the thin sheen of salty sweat that coated his entire arm. No wonder Guang-Hong didn’t want to touch him. Leo wouldn’t have even wanted to touch himself if not for the fact that the rest of his body was already covered in the same gross coating. “Whoops.” He laughed and dropped his hand. “Guess I’m sweatier than I thought. We’ll save that for later. How as the trip over?”

Several more seconds passed with no response from Guang-Hong. Just silence, save for the faint sound of the door to the garage opening and closing from inside the kitchen. Leo had even begun to wonder whether perhaps he’d overestimated Guang-Hong’s skills in English when he finally spoke one tiny, tiny word in a tiny, tiny voice.

“Long.”

“I figured,” said Leo, relieved that Guang-Hong had understood the question, that they weren’t trapped in some sort of silent face-off until judgment day and trumpet sound. “How long?”

Guang-Hong actually managed to lift his head a little, his eyes averting to one corner of the room--probably out of nervousness--before he managed another short answer. “Um… Seventeen hours, I think?”

 _Seventeen?_ Leo tried not to gawk. He assumed that was including layovers, but even still… “Yikes. There’s no way I could stand sitting down for that long.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” said Guang-Hong, surprising Leo by actually speaking voluntarily rather than simply responding to a question. “I slept through most of it.”

Leo opened his mouth to ask a question that hadn’t fully formed in his mind--something about jet lag, the time difference--when a voice from the kitchen cut him short.

“He speaks!” cried Isabela, her words echoing through the kitchen walls. Leo almost laughed, but then he noticed Guang-Hong’s knuckles, white around the strap of his duffel bag.

Man… He really was shy. And Isabela probably wasn’t helping by pointing it out. Leo would have to pick up the slack.

“Don’t worry about her,” said Leo, who was only able to keep his hand off of Guang-Hong’s shoulder by reminding himself how sweaty he was. “That’s just Isa’s way of saying she wants to know you better. No one’s forcing you to talk if you’re too shy, but I’m looking forward to getting to know you, too.” Leo smiled, and he thought for a second that maybe he thought he saw Guang-Hong smile back. Nah… Probably just his imagination. Either way… “Welcome to the US.”

After a quick excuse that he was going downstairs for a shower, Leo took off, half-jogging toward the basement door. He heard Enrique and Guang-Hong talking--or, rather, he heard Enrique talking--but paid it no mind as he disappeared through the door in the foyer and made his way into the basement.

The basement was his realm. Well, his and Laura’s, of course. And now it was to be shared with Guang-Hong as well. It was spacious, and it was always colder than the rest of the house, which made it a perfect place for dancing.

There were three rooms downstairs. Or four, if one wanted to think of it that way. There were the bedrooms, two of them, belonging to Leo and Laura respectively, and a full bathroom, but the best part, Leo would always insist, was what he and Laura had dubbed “the lounge”. It wasn’t as much as it sounded, really. Just an old CRT television and some assorted furniture that Elena de la Iglesia had deemed unfit for guest use but still didn’t want to get rid of. It felt almost closer to a child’s dream of a playhouse than a true part of a home. No one really went down there but Leo or Laura because that old armchair smelled like Grandpa Yago and there was a strange stain on one of the couch cushions that Leo and Laura had covered with an old afghan and agreed never to speak of again. That was part of the appeal, though. Knowing it was theirs. Knowing it was private.

It would be weird, having Guang-Hong intrude upon that almost sacred place, but he was welcome. Leo wouldn’t dream of telling him no. Especially now that he’d seen what Guang-Hong was like. He looked enough like a kicked puppy already. Leo could already feel his heart squeeze just imagining what Guang-Hong would look like if anyone dared to actually upset him.

As Leo gathered a change of clothes into his sweaty arms, he realized that he was already strangely protective of Guang-Hong, just like he had been of his own sister. Guang-Hong was so small and timid, it was hard to be anything less.

Emerging from his bedroom, Leo noticed Enrique in Laura’s room--henceforth Guang-Hong’s room--helping Guang-Hong lift his large, heavy suitcase onto his new bed. Leo didn’t need to hear Enrique’s exact words to recognize the small-talk tone in his voice. Especially when Guang-Hong looked behind Enrique’s back to lock eyes with the boy peeking in. He smiled a little--this time Leo was sure that was what it was--and raised a hand in greeting.

Guang-Hong had _actually initiated contact_. He still looked nervous, but still, that was no small miracle from someone so visibly shy.

Leo grinned and waved back before heading to the bathroom, his smile unwavering even as he walked away. He felt almost proud.

Once the door was closed and locked behind Leo, he made his way not to the shower itself, but to the old, purple boombox on the vanity and switched it on, filling the bathroom--or, more likely, the entire basement--with the smooth piano of a sad love song. A sad, very loud love song.

It didn’t take long before Leo received his first complaint.

“ _Leo Ildefonso Salazar de la Iglesia!_ ” called Enrique’s voice through the door. Despite the harsh tone, Leo only laughed. Laura was right; He did get just as annoyed. “ _I'm trying to have a conversation! Turn it down!_ ”

Leo wadded his sweaty tank top into a ball and tossed it at the door, grinning brightly. “ _You’re not my mom!_ ”

“ _You’re right!_ ” yelled Enrique. “ _If I were_ Mom, _I wouldn’t break down the door!_ ”

Leo, who didn’t buy Enrique’s bluff for a second, simply responded by singing along with the song as loud as he could, thereby increasing the volume of the music in general.

He felt rather than heard Enrique’s retreating footsteps.

Ooh. Stomping. Mature.

Leo was still singing when he stepped into the running water.

Twenty minutes later, Leo emerged from the bathroom, fully intending to intrude upon Guang-Hong’s unpacking and drag him into a conversation, to get to know the person who would be living across the hall from his room for the next several months, but he didn’t make it that far. He didn’t need to. Guang-Hong wasn’t in his room.

He was right outside the bathroom door.

Well, more specifically, he was in the lounge, crouched on all fours in front of the entertainment system, apparently trying to shove his entire arm into the empty cubby hole under the television.

 _Ah_.

Leo walked up behind Guang-Hong, a smile playing on his lips.

“I see you’ve met Lucy.”

Guang-Hong jumped violently, managing to hit his head against the entertainment system in the process. Leo was torn between wanting to make sure he was okay and wanting to laugh; Guang-Hong looked like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Your cat--” said Guang-Hong, his chocolate eyes wide. He looked distressed, almost to the point of being worrisome. “I… Its tail…”

“You stepped on her tail?”

Guang-Hong withdrew his arm from the cubby hole, looking very much like he was about to cry, and nodded. “She _hates_ me,” he said pathetically.

“She would have hated you whether you stepped on her tail or not,” insisted Leo, dropping to his knees. “That’s how she is. She’s only ever liked Mom and Laura. Don’t worry about it too much, okay?”

Guang-Hong sighed, clearly unconvinced, his gaze unwavering from the occupied cubby hole.

“Are you a cat person?” asked Leo.

“Cat-person--? Oh.” Guang-Hong finally tore his gaze away from the entertainment center, but only to look at his own lap. “I just like animals. All of them.”

“All of them?” asked Leo skeptically. “Spiders?”

“...I like _most_ animals,” corrected Guang-Hong sheepishly, still staring at his knees.

There was no stopping Leo’s laughter this time. Guang-Hong was just so sincere. It was refreshing. “Come on,” he said, climbing to his feet and offering his hand. “I bet Mom’s almost done with dinner. It’ll get your mind off Lucy being Lucy.”

Guang-Hong finally raised his head, and then, ever so timidly, his hand. He clasped Leo’s wrist, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

Leo sighed internally. Good. So it _was_ just the sweat before. Good. For a second, he thought he’d scared Guang-Hong off with his dancing. “Let’s go.”

Dinner that night turned out to be chicken alfredo, which Guang-Hong seemed _ecstatic_ about. He seemed more enthusiastic about food than anything else Leo had seen him react to that day...which, to be fair, wasn’t saying much. The two times Guang-Hong had seen him had been in the presence of someone soaked with sweat and after having been shunned by the ruthless Lucy de la Iglesia. Still, he was smiling. _Really_ smiling. And it was contagious.

At least, it _had_ been before Leo’s mother started prying.

“So, Guang-Hong,” she said warmly once everyone was seated at the table. “What made you decide to join the exchange program?”

Guang-Hong’s expression fell so quickly that Leo was sure he could hear it clatter to the floor.

“I… I just…” He took a deep breath. “I just heard about it through my school and I thought...it sounded fun.”

Leo raised his eyebrows at his mother from across the table; she looked just as skeptical as he felt.

“Well,” she said, “I hope we can keep things fun for you.”

“What do you like to do?” asked Leo, changing the topic as quickly as he could. “Like, hobby-wise.”

Guang-Hong’s smile returned, though, Leo noted with a twinge of disappointment, it wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as before. “I like movies,” he said. “And… And figure skating.”

“Oh, no,” groaned Isabela.

“Watching it?” asked Leo urgently. “Or actually skating?”

“Um…” Guang-Hong’s wide eyes met his. “B-Both? I mean, I watch the Grand Prix every year, and--”

No more needed to be said. Leo dove across the table and pulled both of Guang-Hong’s hands into his own, paying no mind to the cheese-covered fork he’d caught in the process.

“Marry me,” he said fiercely.

Guang-Hong was frozen, mouth hanging half-open.

“Leo,” sighed Enrique, exasperated. “Sit down.”

“No one I know keeps up with figure skating except for me,” said Leo, wholeheartedly ignoring his brother. “Who’s your favorite?”

“U-Um…” Guang-Hong’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “P-Phi--”

“Phichit Chulanont?” demanded Leo.

Guang-Hong nodded shakily, and his voice was almost inaudible as he added, “But I also like Victor…”

“You’re my new favorite person,” said Leo with nothing less than absolute conviction.

Guang-Hong mouth-fished for a response up until Enrique lost his patience and yanked Leo back into his chair by the back of his shirt.

“Down, boy,” said Enrique, sighing. “Sorry, Guang-Hong. He’s an unapologetic fanboy. I think you just made his year.”

 _My year?_ thought Leo. _More like my_ life _._

“It’s...fine,” said Guang-Hong, who looked like he might as well have just been slapped in the face for how shocked he was.

“We have to be best friends now,” said Leo. “You don’t have a choice anymore.”

Guang-Hong stayed silently frozen for a moment longer, and Leo was almost afraid he’d gone way over the line, and he might have gone on thinking that if, when Guang-Hong returned to his meal, Leo hadn’t noticed the smallest of tell-tale smiles tugging at his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've determined that Leo is more difficult to write than Guang-Hong.
> 
> Or maybe that's just me being tired. I haven't gotten as much sleep as I wish I could have this weekend. In fact...I did some editing half-asleep. Which is a dumb idea. Don't do what I did. And if I made any dumb mistakes in the process of doing that, tell me about it. I want to know. I was just...so excited about writing for these two that I pushed through it. I wasn't expecting such positive feedback on the last chapter. I'm not used to positivity.
> 
> As much as I'm loving the positivity, though, don't forget to call me out if I mess up. I don't want to make people uncomfortable. What I do want is to improve myself as a writer and a person. So same as last time: Kick my butt. Tell me where I go wrong. I want to know.


	3. Lost Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As we soared above the town that never loved me, I realized I finally had a family." --Ruth B

_Downstairs,_ as it turned out, was actually underground, beneath the house. A basement. It was carpeted—thank goodness—but Guang-Hong still noticed a reasonable drop in temperature the second Enrique opened the door to the stairway. On a hot day near the tail end of summer, it was pleasant, but Guang-Hong was thinking about winter. He could already tell that he wasn’t going to be leaving his bedroom without a blanket around his shoulders.

“You’ll be staying in Laura’s room,” said Enrique, carrying Guang-Hong’s stuffed suitcase a few inches off the stairs. “I made her put all her personal stuff in boxes before she left so you’ll have your own space. You can decorate it however you want as long as it can be taken down when you leave. You can even put tacks in the walls if you have posters you want to hang up. She won’t care.” 

Guang-Hong couldn’t help wondering whether that was actually true. He’d feel better if it had been Laura herself to give him permission, but he’d never even gotten the chance to ask. He’d heard about her a couple of times already, but he didn’t even know what she looked like.

 Or at least, he hadn’t known before he noticed one of many pictures hanging on the walls. A family portrait.  
  
Despite the fact that it was a few years old, Guang-Hong still recognized every member of the de la Iglesia family he’d met so far, each dressed in varying shades of blue. There were snowflakes in the backdrop that made Guang-Hong wonder if it hadn’t been a portrait for a Christmas card or something of the like. Seasonal or not, every member of the family still seemed stunning in their formal clothes.

Guang-Hong’s eyes lingered for a moment on Leo before sliding to the person beside him, a bespectacled girl with the same auburn hair and kind smile.

Enrique paused on the stairs, setting the suitcase down for a moment so he could turn his head without straining himself. “Oh. Yeah, that’s her,” he confirmed. “She’s in Japan right now. Or on her way, I guess. Sorry you didn’t get to meet her. Her plane left right before yours landed.”

“That’s all right,” said Guang-Hong, silently thanking the cosmos that they _hadn’t_ had the chance to meet. The last thing he needed when he was already so nervous was confirmation that the girl whose place he was temporarily filling was someone he couldn’t measure up to. He already felt guilty enough that he was borrowing her room, her family, while she was away.

“Anyway,” said Enrique, lifting the heavy suitcase off the stairs with a soft grunt of effort, resuming where he left off. “Your room’s on the left up here.”

Guang-Hong’s room—or, rather, the room he was borrowing from Laura—was pretty. Like with the family portrait Guang-Hong had seen, nearly everything inside was a different shade of blue. The walls, the pillows, the sheets… Even the wood of the furniture, which had seemed white at first glance, revealed itself to be a very pale blue upon closer inspection. It was as if someone had looked into the eastern sky at sunset and said to themselves, “I want to live in that.”

“So…” Enrique hoisted Guang-Hong’s heavy suitcase onto the top of Laura’s bed, eliciting a groan of protest from the springs. “Leo is right across the hall from you, so if you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask him. He’s a pain in the butt sometimes, but he won’t hesitate to help you. The bathroom’s right around the corner, there’s a living area at the end of the hall, and laundry’s one floor up. Leo plays loud music a lot of the time, so if he gets on your nerves, just tell him. He might turn it down for you. Not anyone else, though. Trust me.”

As if having been summoned by the sound of his name, Leo appeared in the open doorway of his own room across the hall, clothes folded over his arm. 

Guang-Hong’s heart skipped a beat. 

Leo was still coated in sweat, and his long hair, which had been freed from its ponytail at some point, was sticking to his face in places. He looked like a mess, and he almost certainly would have smelled like it if he were much closer, but that didn’t stop Guang-Hong from seeing the dancer he’d first laid eyes on when he walked in. If Leo had wanted to make a good first impression, he’d done it. Perhaps a little too well. Even several minutes after the fact, Guang-Hong still felt a little like Leo was going to eat him alive. 

Not that Leo being so impressive was a bad thing, it just meant that Guang-Hong was a little intimidated—or a lot intimidated, really. But a good sort of intimidated. The kind of intimidated that made Guang-Hong indifferent to his own knocking knees. He may have been nervous, but that didn’t mean he was unhappy to see Leo. Quite the opposite. 

So far in the opposite direction, in fact, that Guang-Hong somehow managed to raise his hand in a shy wave. 

And he got a wave back, along with another of those warm de la Iglesia smiles that sent goosebumps racing up his arms. Goosebumps that stuck around, along with Guang-Hong’s own warm smile, even when Guang-Hong turned his attention back to Enrique.

“What about food?” asked the man, finally turning to face Guang-Hong rather than continue to address his bag as he had been. “Is there anything you really don’t like?”

“I don’t really like—Um…” The English word for _huoguo_ danced on the tip of Guang-Hong’s tongue. “...Stew?”

“Okay, no stew,” said Enrique with a sort of amusement in his voice that made Guang-Hong wonder if he didn’t like stew either. “I’ll let Mom know. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” said Guang-Hong. “Thank you for helping me.”

“It’s no problem,” said Enrique. He, too, had one of those kind smiles, even if he didn’t seem to give it quite as freely as Leo or his mother. “If you need anything else, let me know. Or, like I said, Leo’s right—”

Before Enrique could finish what he was trying to say, he was interrupted by the muffled, yet very loud, melody of a piano.

So, Leo liked to listen to music while he was in the shower. Noted.

Enrique sighed, the exasperated huff coming out almost as loud as the music itself. “Excuse me,” he told Guang-Hong before disappearing down the hallway.

In seconds, Guang-Hong’s ears were greeted with more of the same language Elena had been speaking before. Was it Spanish? Something like that. Maybe Portuguese or Italian, but Spanish was supposed to be the most common language used in the United States after English, wasn’t it?

The yelling continued for several seconds, but there didn’t seem to be any real malice in it. Just sibling rivalry. Instead of allowing himself to become flustered at the exchange, Guang-Hong surprised himself by actually being able to ignore it. He had no difficulty finding places for all of his worldly possessions, everything he would live with for an entire year neatly away.

True to Enrique’s word, every drawer Guang-Hong opened while unpacking was completely empty. It wasn’t until he reached the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers that Guang-Hong found any of Laura’s belongings at all, and even then, that was assuming that an envelope could be considered a belonging.

Especially when it was an envelope addressed to Guang-Hong himself.

Frowning, Guang-Hong plucked the envelope out of the drawer, inspecting it as if he half-expected there to be a letter-bomb inside, and stepped back onto something fluffy. To be fair to Guang-Hong, following his discovery of the envelope, there _was_ a _bit_ of an explosion. Or, to the more discerning ear, a yowl.

Guang-Hong gasped, the letter falling, immediately forgotten, from his fingertips as he whipped around just in time to see a slim, black creature disappear through his doorway.

Though he had extra weight slowing him down thanks to the stones that fell into his stomach the second he’d heard the scream, Guang-Hong didn’t let it stop him from bolting after the injured creature, following it to the living area Enrique had mentioned before. He was sure it had gone this way—there were no other doors in that direction short of the closed bathroom door—but where it was hiding, he wasn’t sure. There weren’t too many places for it to hide, though. There wasn’t enough room under the couch for a cat to squeeze, the area behind the entertainment center didn’t provide enough cover…

But inside the entertainment center itself, well, that was a different story entirely.

Guang-Hong lowered himself to the floor and peered into the dark, empty space under the television that was too narrow to be called a shelf. At the back of the space, he saw a pair of glowing, yellow dots staring back at him.

“ _Hey_ ,” he greeted in soft Mandarin, reaching carefully into the dark space.

The cat hissed.

Guang-Hong paused, biting his lip, before carefully trying again.

“ _It’s okay,_ ” he whispered. If he got scratched for this, he knew it was his own fault, but he wanted so badly to make amends. “ _I didn’t mean to step on you. It was an accident. I’d never hurt you._ ” He gently ran his fingertips across what little of the cat’s back he could reach in such a narrow space. The cat was not at all happy with this situation, judging by the warning growl Guang-Hong was receiving, but it wasn’t lashing out. Good. That was a good sign. Maybe he could mend things with the cat after all.

At least, he’d thought so until it hissed again.

Guang-Hong’s hand stilled.

No, the cat was definitely still angry.

Guang-Hong sighed, disappointed, ready to give up, and that was when he heard it.

Leo’s voice.

“I see you’ve met Lucy.”

_Oh, no._

Guang-Hong tried to pull his hand out of cat-occupied territory so quickly that all he managed to do was to hit his head.

“Your cat—” Guang-Hong tried to explain quickly, hoping that maybe Leo would be less angry with him if he was honest as soon as possible. The strangest thing was...Leo didn’t seem angry at all in the first place. He was just...smiling. Why was he smiling? “I…” Guang-Hong shook his head, distracted by how calm Leo was. “Its tail…”

“You stepped on her tail?” asked Leo. Bizarrely enough, he was still smiling.

Guang-Hong pulled his arm the rest of the way out of the entertainment center, still hypnotized by that inexplicable smile on Leo’s face. “She _hates_ me,” he said cautiously. _Why don’t you? I abused your cat!_

Answering Guang-Hong’s unspoken question, Leo dropped to his knees. “She would have hated you whether you stepped on her tail or not,” he explained. “That’s how she is. She’s only ever liked Mom and Laura. Don’t worry about it too much, okay?”

Guang-Hong exhaled slowly, feeling almost in awe of just...how Leo was. Was he always smiling like that? If only Lucy could be so forgiving…

“Are you a cat-person?”

Guang-Hong blinked at the question. “Cat-person—?” What kind of question was that? Did he look like a cat, or— “Oh.” It occurred to Guang-Hong perhaps a second too late that English was a particularly idiomatic language and that Leo probably meant a person who _likes_ cats rather than a person who was _cat-like_. Guang-Hong nearly laughed at himself aloud. Of _course_ that was what Leo meant. “I just like animals. All of them.”

“All of them?” Leo raised an eyebrow. “Spiders?”

Guang-Hong could feel himself turning red. He didn’t _hate_ spiders necessarily. He understood that they were important to keep the insect population, and he wouldn’t kill one unless it were absolutely necessary...but if he happened to see one crawling across the carpet in that exact moment, on the other hand…he probably would have screamed. “I like _most_ animals,” he amended bashfully.

Leo laughed; the sound was like a warm autumn breeze: gentle, not unkind, and if Guang-Hong were to close his eyes, he was sure he would probably have been able to see every brightly-colored leaf on the wind.

“Come on,” said Leo, interrupting Guang-Hong’s thoughts by climbing to his feet and offering his hand. “I bet Mom’s almost done with dinner. It’ll get your mind off Lucy being Lucy.”

Guang-Hong eyed the hand. This was the second time Leo had offered it, and Guang-Hong was almost as intimidated by it now as he had been the first time. There was just one major difference this time. They’d bonded, in a way. Leo had already seen Guang-Hong freak out once, and he’d forgiven him for it. Just like that. It was surprising just how down-to-earth Leo was despite how great he seemed. If anything, that just made Leo seem even greater. And yet, Leo still treated Guang-Hong like an equal.

Maybe Guang-Hong could do the same.

With a deep breath, Guang-Hong reached out and clasped Leo’s arm, allowing himself to be helped to his feet.

It was remarkable just how amazing such a simple gesture could feel.

As Guang-Hong and Leo neared the basement door, Guang-Hong began to notice something that smelled heavenly. Sort of a cheesy smell. Something with a white sauce.

When the door opened, Guang-Hong found himself face-to-face with a set table, each plate already presenting a beautiful mountain of pasta.

A wide grin nearly split Guang-Hong’s face in half. Growing up, he’d heard two contradicting rumors about American food. Either it was supposed to be all heavy, greasy foods and a lot of bread, or Americans just borrowed and adapted food from other cultures because they didn’t really have much of their own. From the looks of things, the latter was closer to the truth, and Guang-Hong was more than fine with that. 

When he was invited to sit down, he wasted no time, too excited to feel shy. He only hesitated long enough for someone else to take the first bite, just in case they were the type of family to pray before eating. Once everyone else at the table had at least touched their food if not already tasted it, Guang-Hong followed suit.

The first bite was glorious. Guang-Hong had never had anything quite like it before—all the dairy in Italian food didn’t agree with Guang-Hong’s parents, and he had no friends close enough to warrant going out to eat together—but already, he was in love. He could easily see himself getting fat off something like this, but honestly, if getting fat tasted like this, Guang-Hong welcomed it with open arms. It was absolute bliss.

Unfortunately, that bliss was short-lived.

“So, Guang-Hong,” said Elena, her voice casual. “What made you decide to join the exchange program?”

Guang-Hong’s fork froze halfway to his plate. “I…” He could feel the color drain from his face. He’d thought he was done answering this question. “I just…” He’d thought, as soon as he boarded the plane, the _why_ of it didn’t matter anymore. “I just heard about it through my school and I thought…” How was he supposed to explain his motivations when he didn’t quite understand them himself? Was he just supposed to say that something instinctual just took place when he was presented with the idea to travel to the opposite side of the world? How was he supposed to explain that it just felt right, like something was pulling him, like it was _destiny_ , even though he knew how ridiculous that seemed? “...it sounded fun.”

There was a heaviness over the kitchen. Elena was trying to alleviate that weight by keeping the conversation going, but Guang-Hong didn’t even need to lift his head to see that he had just made things awkward for everyone.

But then, there was Leo.

“What do you like to do?” he asked, lifting Guang-Hong’s eyes off of his lap with words alone. “Like, hobby-wise.” There was a smile on his face, one Guang-Hong couldn’t help but mirror. He’d only known Leo for maybe an hour, and already Leo had saved him twice.

“I like movies,” said Guang-Hong. “And…” And something much less masculine. Something a little embarrassing. Something that might actually make the de la Iglesias treat him differently. “And figure skating.”

Isabela groaned.

Enrique rolled his eyes, muttering something unheard.

Guang-Hong wondered how much time could actually pass before “Just kidding” was no longer an applicable excuse. He opened his mouth, ready to at least try to fix what had happened, to try to make amends with the de la Iglesias before he could ruin everything permanently, when Leo—because of course it was Leo yet again—addressed him directly.

“Watching it?” he asked, so serious it was almost frightening. “Or actually skating?”

Guang-Hong bit his lip to keep it from quivering. Was it really that big of a deal? Had he accidentally made some American faux pas? “Um…” Either way, he had the feeling he’d missed his window of opportunity. Brushing it off as a joke now felt like a lost cause. “B-Both? I mean, I watch the Grand Prix every year, and—”

Then it happened.

The clanking of dishware, the table scooting at least an inch in his direction, the scraping of Leo’s chair as it was pushed back across the linoleum floor, Enrique’s glass wobbling and almost falling over, and...Leo’s hands, rough and surprisingly strong, wrapping ever so tightly around his own, holding them up nearly high enough to reach his lips, as if he wanted to kiss Guang-Hong’s fingers. “Marry me.”

Guang-Hong’s jaw dropped. That… That was more idiomatic language, right? Or a joke? It was. Of course it was. It had to be. It was ridiculous to think otherwise. But there was so much conviction in Leo’s voice, it almost made Guang-Hong _wonder_.

As caught up as he was in his own anxious worrying, Guang-Hong hadn’t even noticed the deafening buzzing in his head until he noticed Leo’s lips moving. He forced himself to listen past the buzzing, focusing on what little snippets of sound he could catch and trying to make words out of them. Unfortunately, he’d only managed to catch the tail end of Leo’s question.

“—your favorite?”

His favorite? They were still talking about figure skating, right? “U-Um…” Guang-Hong was still reeling, to the point where it was difficult to even remember a single figure skater’s name. It would help so much if Leo hadn’t been holding onto his hands quite so tightly or staring into his eyes with quite so much intensity. “P-Phi—”

“Phichit Chulanont?”

Huh?

Leo...knew who that was?

Guang-Hong nodded numbly, barely even registering his own stunned speech as he mumbled something about Victor Nikiforov. Not that Victor even counted anymore; he’d retired just months before.

“You’re my new favorite person,” said Leo was just as much conviction, just as much emphasis as he’d shown before, that same intense spark in his eyes. This time, Guang-Hong was even less certain that he was joking. He couldn’t possibly mean that—they’d only just met—but it was at least more plausible than a marriage proposal. Maybe it was silly to think, but...Guang-Hong almost hoped, now that it was something a little less life-changing than a marriage proposal, that Leo really meant what he said.

Before Guang-Hong could even come up with an appropriate response, Leo’s hands were yanked away as Enrique forced him back into his chair by the scruff of his neck.

“Sorry, Guang-Hong,” said Enrique, cutting through the fading buzz in Guang-Hong’s head. “He’s an unapologetic fanboy. I think you just made his year.”

“It’s...fine,” said Guang-Hong, who was, to be honest, _astonished_ at just how fine it really was. For Guang-Hong, an invasion of space would have usually made him feel uncomfortable at best and downright unwelcome at worst. However, when Leo initiated contact, while shocking, it still made Guang-Hong feel at home.

“We have to be best friends now,” said Leo, this time without any of the theatrics. “You don’t have a choice anymore.”

Didn’t have a choice, huh? Guang-Hong returned his attention to his plate, trying not to smile. Well, that was okay. It was what he would have chosen anyway.

After finishing his meal, Guang-Hong was allowed the chance to go downstairs and finish his unpacking, this time hopefully with much less Lucy-related crises, while Leo and his mother had a talk. Guang-Hong hoped that the talk didn’t have anything to do with Leo’s outburst at the table. If that really was just Leo’s way of showing that he cared, then Guang-Hong couldn’t possibly hold a grudge against him for that.

By the time Guang-Hong had finished unpacking, had chosen a specific outlet near the head of his bed for his adapter, and had found a safe place for his laptop beneath his bed, it was nearly midnight. It seemed shocking at first, seeing that number on his phone, but a look at the time zones on his computer told him the same. It was only four in the afternoon back in Shanghai. His parents wouldn’t even be home from work yet. Sure enough, though, it was the middle of the night in California, and Guang-Hong was determined to get his circadian rhythm up to speed as soon as possible. He changed into his pajamas—a black, silky set with magenta accents at the lapels and sleeves—and slid beneath the covers of his borrowed bed.

And thus began the next two hours of tossing and turning, interrupted only briefly by pausing to glare at the ceiling, as if an unfamiliar ceiling was the reason Guang-Hong couldn’t sleep, and ending finally when Guang-Hong decided he’d had enough and got out of bed for a glass of water. Anything to distract him from the unending boredom of the darkness.

He crept to his doorway, careful not to make too much noise for Leo’s sake, but when he reached his door, he realized that his efforts were unnecessary. Leo was already awake.

Guang-Hong jumped, surprised to see someone standing directly across the hallway. Especially someone without a shirt. Was that just how he slept? “Oh! Leo… Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” said Leo, that ever-present calm smile on his face. “I was having trouble sleeping, too. Jet lag, right?”  
  
Guang-Hong nodded. “I mean...sort of.”

Leo thumbed over his shoulder. “Want something to eat?”

“I was just going to get some water,” said Guang-Hong sheepishly.

“You can still have water with it,” said Leo, “but this is way better than just water. Come on.”

The kitchen looked different at night. Warmer. Maybe it was due to the different lighting, or maybe it was just because the bite of being in a strange place with strange people softened when it was just Guang-Hong and Leo.  
  
Lit only by a dim, orangey night-light, Leo walked to the cabinets, grabbing a glass and handing it to Guang-Hong before going to the refrigerator to retrieve a pitcher of water and two eggs.

Having handed the pitcher to Guang-Hong, Leo cracked one of the eggs and separated it. Guang-Hong watched curiously, managing to miss his glass and pour water directly onto the kitchen table in the process. He quickly shifted the trajectory of the water stream with one hand, using the other to quickly mop up the splash with the sleeve of his pajamas.

Having disposed of the egg white, Leo dropped the yolk into a mug he’d grabbed from the same cabinet where he’d gotten Guang-Hong’s glass, then repeated the same with the second egg and a second mug. He set about the kitchen, digging into every jar and container apparently available to him, adding no more than a tablespoon from the contents of every single one of them. It was like watching a mad scientist at work, or a storybook witch in an old cartoon.

When Leo was done, he set the two cups in the microwave and timed it for less than a minute.

“What are you making?” asked Guang-Hong, unable to keep his curiosity contained any longer.

“You’ll see,” said Leo, talking around the fork he’d used to stir the ingredients, which was now hanging from his lips as he went about closing each of the containers he’d used and putting them back in their respective homes. “It’s a surprise.”

The microwave beeped, but Leo didn’t give it an ounce of his attention until everything was properly tidied. Only once the counter was clean and a couple of forks had been grabbed from the silverware drawer did Leo pop the microwave door open, filling the room with a sweet smell.

“Here,” said Leo, dropping one of the cups on the table where Guang-Hong sat and handing him one of the forks. “Careful, though. It’s hot.”

Guang-Hong peered into the cup curiously and raised his eyebrows. It looked like some kind of...fluffy pastry. Or something. With...was that chocolate? How had Leo managed that in only a few minutes? Maybe he really was a mad scientist.

Guang-Hong looked across the table, where Leo had dropped into the chair opposite him, already digging into his food with a fork of his own. Dubiously, Guang-Hong followed suit, dipping his fork into his own cup and separating a small chunk from the top. Leo wasn’t kidding about how hot it was; there was definitely steam coming off of it. Guang-Hong blew on it once, twice, and popped it into his mouth.

…Okay, so it was really, really rich. Much sweeter than Guang-Hong had been anticipating. So sweet, in fact, that Guang-Hong wasn’t sure whether he actually liked the taste or not. He took another bite.

Actually, it was pretty good. Definitely sweeter than he was used to, but that didn’t make it bad. Just...different.

He took another bite.

“I’m going to get fat.”

Leo laughed. “What?”

Guang-Hong jumped. He’d almost forgotten that Leo was there at all. To tell the truth, he wasn’t even entirely sure how he’d managed to speak English. “Just…” He bit his lip, mulling his words over. “If all American food is as good as everything I’ve had today, I won’t be able to stop eating.”

“So you like it?” asked Leo, grinning. “I wasn’t sure. You were kind of making a face for a while there.”

“Sorry.” Guang-Hong smiled. “Chinese desserts aren’t usually this sweet, so the taste surprised me. That’s all.”

“Really?” asked Leo. “I’d like to try them sometime.”

“I might be able to make some,” offered Guang-Hong brightly. “ _Zhongqiujie_ is next month. _Yue bing_ is more traditional, but I don't think I could make that. Not without my dad's help. But I could make some _tang yuan_.” His face fell. “Except...I don’t know if I could find all of the ingredients here. I might have trouble finding black sesame seeds.”

“We could check Chinatown,” said Leo helpfully. “We might find it there. Especially if it’s a holiday. Um… Zhong…?”

“ _Zhongqiujie_ ,” said Guang-Hong. “Um… Middle of Autumn Festival?”

“Right,” said Leo. “That. If it’s a holiday, then you might be able to find obscure ingredients pretty easily.”

“Okay,” said Guang-Hong, his smile returning. “And if that doesn’t work, I could try to make _laopo bing_ instead.”

“Laopo bing?” asked Leo.

“Wife cake,” said Guang-Hong.

Leo snickered.

It took a second for Guang-Hong to realize why. He hadn’t been thinking about what those two words meant separately. Specifically the first word. “W-Wait, I wasn’t—”

“You want to make me _wife cake_?” asked Leo, grinning. “You know I wasn’t being serious when I asked you to marry me, right?”

Guang-Hong hid his face behind his hands, peeking through his fingers. “No! I mean, yes, I know! I wasn’t— I didn’t mean—”

“I know, I know,” said Leo, still smiling. “I’m just messing with you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

Guang-Hong sighed, his tense shoulders slackening, though his face was still very red. There wasn’t any malice in Leo’s smile. It really was just honest teasing.

Slowly, Guang-Hong lowered his hands, a question on his tongue. “...You were serious about being friends, though, right?”

“Are you kidding me?” asked Leo. “You think I can just let someone in my house, find out he likes figure skating, and let him get away with _not_ being my best friend? I finally have someone I can watch the Grand Prix with. Someone I can take to an ice rink without getting groans and sarcasm. Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted that? Being best friends was inevitable from the second I saw you.”

Guang-Hong smiled, turning his attention back to his food. “Thank you, Leo.”

“For what?” asked Leo, resting one arm across the table and using the other to dig another bite out of his own dessert.

“Being my friend,” said Guang-Hong, who found the words felt really stupid to say out loud.

“Why do you feel like you have to thank me?” asked Leo. “I mean I want it as much as you do, right?”

Guang-Hong fell silent for several long seconds. He knew what he wanted to say in Mandarin, but he was having trouble thinking of the right words in English. None of them seemed to do the feeling justice. None of the words he knew, anyway.

“You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to,” said Leo. “I realize that was probably a personal question.”

“I still want to answer it,” said Guang-Hong. “It’s just…” He sighed, staring into his mug. “This is...new for me.”

“What’s new?”

“... _This_ ,” said Guang-Hong uselessly, lacking the English word. “This... _air_. The way we’re talking, how everything feels. It’s so...personal.”

“Is that a bad thing?” asked Leo, sitting a little straighter. “I mean, I don’t want to, like, intrude on your boundaries or—”

“No, no, it’s really good,” said Guang-Hong earnestly. “It’s a _really_ good thing. Something I’ve always wanted. I just thought it was only something that happened in movies. Two people talking about...everything. Things that don’t matter, and things that matter more than anything, all at once. Laughing at stupid things, each other, themselves… But also talking about really private feelings. Really important feelings. I thought it was impossible for something like that to be real, like it was too warm and beautiful to exist, but...I haven’t even known you for a day and we’re already talking like this.”

“The circumstances called for it,” said Leo, shrugging. “If you stay up late with one other person, this is always how it ends up. I don’t know why. It’s just a rule of life. Stick two people in a dark room long enough, and they’ll start looking for the light in each other.”

Guang-Hong’s eyes widened. His lips parted. He stared, completely awestruck, for several seconds, before slowly burying his face in his hands with a long, frustrated groan.

“Oh, man,” said Leo, grimacing. “That corny, huh? I know I was being kind of cheesy, but…”

“How are you so _cool_?” whined Guang-Hong, muffled by his own hands. There was no way Leo was real. It was impossible. People like this didn’t exist outside of movies.

“I… _Huh_?”

Guang-Hong lifted his head, pushing his long bangs away from his face. “You’re so confident and kind and you’re so good at dancing and you come up with poetry like _that_ without even _trying—_ ”

“Poetry? I was just babbling.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” said Guang-Hong in what was almost a whisper. “It comes so naturally to you. You’re amazing.”

“Whoa, okay, stop,” said Leo urgently, throwing up his hands in a cease-and-desist gesture. “How can you say stuff like that without even looking at yourself? I mean, you’re, what, seventeen?”

“Sixteen,” corrected Guang-Hong shyly.

“ _Sixteen_ , and you went halfway around the world _by yourself_ to live for a year in a country you’ve never been to before and stay with a family you’ve never met before,” said Leo. “That takes some serious guts. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. That’s what’s really cool.”

“I’m not brave at _all_!” protested Guang-Hong. “I can’t even sleep without Yu-Tuzi!”

Several seconds of horrifying silence passed before Guang-Hong realized what he’d said. And that was when he realized that what Leo had said was only half-right. Sticking two people in a dark room for long enough didn’t make them want to seek the light in each other, it just coaxed their _own darkness out, their own dark secrets, and Guang-Hong had just let his own dark secret escape without even a second thought—_

“Without what?”

Guang-Hong covered his mouth with both hands and dropped his forehead to the table with a soft _thunk_ and a pathetic whine. This wasn’t going as planned at all. The whole reason he hadn’t brought her in the first place was to avoid this discussion, and he hadn’t even made it one day without having it anyway.

“You can tell me,” insisted Leo. “I won’t laugh.”

“You will,” insisted Guang-Hong, voice muffled.

“No, I won’t,” swore Leo. “I _promise_.”

Guang-Hong didn’t believe him. He said absolutely nothing. Anything could be incriminating.

Leo didn’t say anything either, at first, but then, slowly, cautiously, he asked, “Is it a stuffed animal?”

Guang-Hong whined again, this time louder.

“What is it?” asked Leo. “A bear? A dog? I want to see!”

Guang-Hong lifted his head slowly, mistrust and skepticism in his every feature.

But Leo was smiling. Leo was _always_ smiling. And it was always sincere.

How could he ever think he wasn’t as cool as Guang-Hong said?

“...She’s a rabbit,” admitted Guang-Hong. “I’ve...had her since I was a baby.”

“So is she downstairs?” asked Leo, sounding interested rather than amused.

“Um, no…” said Guang-Hong grudgingly. “I...left her at home.”

Leo’s smile faltered, just a bit. “Didn’t you just say you can’t sleep without her?”

Guang-Hong waited. He didn’t have to wait for long. Leo was clever enough to make the connection on his own.

And suddenly, he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“You didn’t bring her because you didn’t want anyone to see,” he said. “You thought someone would make fun of you, so you left her at home, and now you can’t sleep. That’s what you meant by jet lag just being part of it.”

Guang-Hong didn’t bother answering. The truth was obvious now. There was nothing left to say.

Leo stood from his chair, almost as abruptly as he had earlier that day, when he’d jumped across the table to steal Guang-Hong’s hands. “Wait here a sec.”

And wait Guang-Hong did, watching, confused, as Leo disappeared into the basement stairway. The longer he stayed on the other side of that yellow door, the more anxious Guang-Hong became, up until the exact second he returned.

When Leo opened the door, Guang-Hong’s breath caught in his throat. In his arms was a fluffy, rather large, golden lion. Stuffed, of course, and judging by the strange directions his mane pointed in, the flyaway strings in his embroidered eyes, and the overall dinginess of him, he was well-loved. Leo carried him all the way around the table to where Guang-Hong was and stood by his chair. He seemed…not stern, but serious. His brow was furrowed, but Guang-Hong still saw signs of a fond smile lingering in his eyes.

“This is Doricito,” explained Leo. “Doradocito, technically, but just Doricito is fine. I know it’s not the same as having your rabbit, but I thought it might be better than nothing. At least you have someone to hold onto, right? And I know from experience that he’s a good snuggle buddy, even if I haven’t slept with him for ten years. I think it’s about time that he had someone to snuggle with, and I know he’ll be happier with you than he is judging me from my dresser.”

Without a further word, he leaned down and dropped Doricito gently into Guang-Hong’s lap.

Guang-Hong stared, dumbstruck, at the lion for several seconds before his brain caught up and he realized...Leo had just handed him a cherished piece of his childhood without even a second of hesitation.

“I...I can’t—”

“What, you don’t like him?”

“No, it’s not that! He’s very cute—”

“So what’s the problem?”

“He’s yours. It’s not right for me to take him from you.”

“You’re not taking him, though,” said Leo. “I’m offering. Besides, he’ll be happier with you.” He dropped to his knees, hiding behind Doricito’s head and manipulating his smiling, furry face to look up at Guang-Hong. “See? He wants to be with you.”

Guang-Hong whined. Doricito wasn’t the only one who was cute. “...Okay,” he sighed. “But the second you want him back—”

“I won’t,” insisted Leo, pushing himself back to his full height. “He belongs with you and that’s that.” He returned to his own chair and dropped into it, reaching leisurely for his mug. “Now… Tell me what makes you like Phichit Chulanont so much.”

“What makes me like him?” Guang-Hong picked up his fork. “That’s a long list…”

“So start with your favorite parts and make your way down,” said Leo. “I’ll accept everything from his actual skating to his perfect hair or his obsession with posting his entire life on Instagram.”

“Don’t bring up his hair. I’ll have a heart attack.”

“Hah! I knew I had you pegged.”

When Leo and Guang-Hong were done with their late night snack, they returned to their rooms, dragging their feet. It seemed the late hour had finally caught up with them. It certainly had with Guang-Hong at the very least.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he asked, resting his chin on top of Doricito’s head.

“It’s fine,” insisted Leo. “You worry too much, Guang-Hong.” He stopped in the hallway, exactly centered between their bedroom doors. “Hey, am I pronouncing that right?”

“Huh?” Guang-Hong stopped with him. “My name?”

“Yeah,” said Leo. “If I’m saying your name wrong, I’d rather know now than later, when it’s a habit.”

“You’re saying it close enough,” said Guang-Hong.

“Which means I’m saying it wrong,” said Leo. “‘Close enough’ isn’t close enough. Not for me. I want it to be perfect. I’ve heard enough people pronounce _de la Iglesia_ wrong to know how annoying it gets after a while. I want to say _your name_. Not something that’s _close enough_ to your name.”

Guang-Hong squeezed Doricito closer to his chest. Leo really was sweet. He wondered what his father would think if he knew that his assumption that all Americans were arrogant and lazy was so utterly wrong. At least when it came to this particular American. “It’s… It’s _Guang-Hong_. _You_ say it like... _Gwang-_ Hong.”

“Can you say it slower?” asked Leo.

“ _Guaaaaaaang-Hong_ ,” said Guang-Hong.

“Gueng-Hong?”

“Guang-Hong.”

“Gwung-Hong?”

“Almost. _Guang_... _Hong_.”

Leo smiled, and when his face lit up, it took the entire dark hallway with it. “Guang-Hong.”

Guang-Hong’s stomach flopped. He suddenly understood why Leo had been so insistent on using the proper pronunciation. It made a difference. Hearing his name in Leo’s voice was like hearing it for the first time. “That’s perfect.”

“Guang-Hong,” said Leo again, making Guang-Hong’s heart flutter. “All right. I’ve got it. I won’t forget.”

Guang-Hong tried to hide his face in Doricito’s mane. It didn’t work very well, considering he was immediately forced to emerge if he wanted to talk without getting hair in his mouth. “I want to hear you say it in the morning.”

“You will,” said Leo, taking a step back and putting a hand on his doorknob. “Hey, what’s ‘good night’ in Chinese?”

“Well,” said Guang-Hong slowly, “in Mandarin, it’s _wan an_.” He hesitated. “W-What about your language?”

“Spanish, you mean?” asked Leo. “ _Buenas noches_.”

“ _Buenas noches_ ,” repeated Guang-Hong in what he was sure was a terrible accent. “Okay. _Buenas noches_ , Leo.”

Leo grinned. “ _Wan an,_ Guang-Hong.”

Guang-Hong stumbled backward, managing to hit himself in the back of his hipbone with the doorknob. Wow. He had not expected how those words would sound on Leo’s tongue. He had not expected that at all.

Bright red, Guang-Hong slapped the door behind him, searching for the doorknob he’d just walked into, and pushed his way inside of his room, closing the door as quickly as he could behind him to keep Leo from seeing the color his face had turned.

Leo was not supposed to be that cute. It had to be illegal. In America, in China...in every country.

Shaking his head, trying to get his heart to calm down, Guang-Hong crept back to his bed and lifted Doricito onto his lap. Even in the dark, he could see the warmth in the lion’s expression. Smiling, Guang-Hong held the lion close and buried the entirety of his face in its furry mane. For the first time, he noticed a smell, a masculine aroma, deep in the lion’s stuffing, and he recognized it immediately. It was a smell he’d caught when he’d taken Leo’s hand to help him stand in front of the entertainment center, when he’d followed closely behind Leo from the basement to the kitchen, when they’d exchanged good nights in the hallway between their bedrooms. Guang-Hong’s smile widened, and he buried his face deeper in the fabric.

Doricito smelled like love and friendship. Doricito smelled like Leo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big, HUUUUGE THANKS to Fiorelily for betaing this chapter. She helped so much. Everyone, show her love. She's amazing.
> 
> As usual, kick my butt if I say something insensitive or otherwise stupid because I'm writing minorities that I'm not familiar with on a personal level. I do my research where I can, but research on such a topic can only take me so far. So tell me if I go wrong.
> 
> Related, it's becoming increasingly clear due to setting and character backgrounds that I cannot, with a clear conscience, get around visiting Dia de Muertos in a future chapter. Problem? I've grown up so damn white and sheltered that I've probably never even met someone who speaks fluent Spanish. Again, I do my research as much as I can, but it doesn't compare to actually talking to someone who celebrates the holiday. If anyone who reads this does celebrate Dia de Muertos and could answer some questions, holy cow, I would be eternally grateful.


	4. The Hurt is Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No safety in illusions of a place where you belonged, so take hold of me, and hang on 'til the hurt is gone." --Yellowcard

After eating, Leo had fully intended to talk to Guang-Hong a bit more, get to know him a bit better, but before he’d had the chance to stand from his chair, his mother’s hand found his shoulder.

“You, stay up here,” she said, her voice a strict warning, but not unkind. “We need to talk.”

Leo winced; he knew exactly what that meant. He’d heard those words enough times during his life to know what followed them. At some point during the day, he’d displeased his mother, and he was about to get the earful of his life.

And an earful was exactly what he got.

“ _You can’t just jump across the table in the middle of dinner, Leo,_ ” said Elena in rapid Spanish, shoving a soapy drinking glass in Leo’s direction.

“ _Yes, Mamá,_ ” said Leo, rinsing the glass under the running tap and setting it aside.

“ _We don’t know much about his culture,_ ” continued Elena as if Leo hadn’t spoken at all. Par for the course as far as her mom-rants went. “ _That could have been incredibly insulting. You would have no way of knowing._ ”

“ _He didn’t seem insulted,_ ” protested Leo. “ _I mean, surprised, sure, but—_ ”

“ _But it could have been so much worse,_ ” interjected Elena. “ _Like I said, you had no way of knowing if that could have upset him._ ”

“ _I don’t want to walk on eggshells around him,_ ” groaned Leo. “ _I want to treat him like any other person I’d meet. Isn’t that the point of the exchange program? To learn what it’s like to live in another country?_ ”

“ _Yes,_ ” snapped Elena. “ _To learn about cultures. Not to be traumatized via culture shock. What if he’d taken your proposal seriously?_ ”

“ _No one would take that proposal seriously,_ ” insisted Leo. “ _No matter what culture you’re from._ ” She was blowing things out of proportion. Nothing new, of course; that was just how Elena was. Leo knew the score by now. He was used to sitting back and letting her get the scolding out of her system. “ _Who proposes on the first day they meet someone? Sober, I mean._ ”

Elena took her hands out of the dishwasher to wave the rag she’d been using in Leo’s face, flicking his nose and cheeks with water. “ _How much do you know about Chinese culture, Leo?_ ”

“ _Not much,_ ” admitted Leo, shrinking away from the splatters.

“ _Exactly,_ ” said Elena, waving her dishcloth ever closer. “ _For all we know, first-day proposals could be common over there. Is it likely? Probably not, but it’s still possible, Leo. Do you understand?_ ”

Leo sighed. “ _Yes, Mamá._ ” His words were hollow. He did want to appease his mother, yes, but not at the price of treating Guang-Hong as anything less than an equal. Leo wanted to avoid babying him as much as possible. He wasn’t going to change that just because his mother told him so.

Elena nodded firmly, her expression as hard as ever as she refocused her attention on the dishes. She shoved another plate at Leo’s chest, one he had to catch before she got his shirt wet. “ _I am going to do some research tonight,_ ” she said. “ _To look up what not to do in China. Maybe that will help to avoid potential disasters like tonight’s. I recommend you do the same._ ”

“ _What disaster?_ ” groaned Leo. “ _Nothing happened._ ”

“ _It could have, Leo,_ ” said Elena, her tone still an auditory warning sign. “ _Promise me you’ll do at least a little research._ ”

Leo sighed. “ _Yes, Mamá._ ” He frowned at the plate in his hands as he turned it back and forth underneath the faucet, watching tiny soap bubbles roll off the edges. He could handle a little bit of research if it would make his mom happy.

So, dishes clean, Leo slinked back to his room, sparing Guang-Hong’s bedroom door only a passing glance on the way, and began to half-heartedly browse the Internet, researching the bare minimum of Chinese cultural faux pas, just enough to make sure he wouldn’t, for example, insinuate that Guang-Hong was going to die.

By giving him a clock.

With one hand.

Particularly the left hand.

 _Is that really a thing?_ Leo narrowed his eyes skeptically at the words on the screen, making a mental note not to get Guang-Hong a watch for Christmas, just in case.

After a while, Leo found his mind wandering more than cooperating with his research, and to appease it, his fingers began to wander as well, scrolling across his laptop’s touch-pad to open a new tab for social media.

Amidst the swarm of selfies from school-mates dreading the end of summer were Phichit Chulanont’s constant updates about where he was, what he was eating, what his coach was up to, and so forth. And then, of course, there were the untagged candid pictures of Yuri Katsuki, courtesy of the blatantly-smitten Victor Nikiforov, who seemed to have his heart set on filling his Instagram with so many pictures of Yuri that they outnumbered the pictures of himself.

A tiny smile tugged at Leo’s lips when he stumbled across a picture of Yuri being eaten alive by Victor’s poodle, Makkachin. Everyone who knew anything about figure skating knew that Victor and Yuri were more than coach and athlete. Well, everyone who didn’t have heteronormativity blinders. There were still a few people who insisted that they were purely platonic, but at this point, they were in the minority to the point where Leo was nothing less than startled when he spotted comments that they were just very, very close friends.

To which Leo usually responded not with words, but with a link to the video he’d found from the phone of an audience member at the “Yuri v. Yuri” face-off in Japan.

That wolf-whistle they’d caught while filming Victor rather than the competition itself said more than Leo ever could.

_I wonder what Guang-Hong thinks about all this._

That thought surprised Leo. Not because he was curious about Guang-Hong, but because he’d temporarily forgotten about Guang-Hong altogether. A pang of guilt pricked at Leo like nettles growing in his stomach. He’d meant to offer to help Guang-Hong unpack. “Augh, he’s probably done by now…” Leo looked at the bottom right corner of his laptop.

12:45? When had _that_ happened?!

“Yeah,” sighed Leo, slapping his laptop shut. “Definitely done by now.” And probably asleep.

Sighing, Leo climbed off his bed and reached behind his neck to pull his shirt off. He probably should have been asleep, too.

So, hair combed and teeth brushed, he tried, and tried, and tried some more.

But his mind wouldn’t stop wandering.

Was his sister still on the plane, or had she landed by now? Had she found her host family all right, or was she wandering around Fukuoka Airport by herself?

Did she miss home—miss Leo, even—or was she just excited about being in Japan?

He wondered whether he’d made a good impression on Guang-Hong’s first day. Sweaty hands and marriage proposals aside, what did Guang-Hong think of him? Could they really have the friendship Leo desired?

Guang-Hong had walked in on his dancing. Did he think that was stupid? Where did dancing lie as far as Chinese culture was concerned? Did it make Leo seem lazy or promiscuous? He should have done more research, like his mom said. What if—

…His “marriage proposal” hadn’t really upset Guang-Hong…had it?

“I need to get out of bed before I lose my mind,” grumbled Leo, throwing the blankets off his body. A snack probably wouldn’t help him sleep, but at least it might be able to distract him from all of the thoughts crowding in his head.

He opened the door…and froze, a smile slowly replacing his disgruntled scowl.

Where…on _Earth_ …did Guang-Hong get those pajamas? Not that Leo minded. No, they suited Guang-Hong really well. Almost too well. Somehow, they made Guang-Hong look even more cute and innocent than he already seemed.

How was that even possible?

“Oh!” Guang-Hong seemed to notice Leo a little late with a surprisingly violent jolt. Leo had to stifle a chuckle. “Leo… Did I wake you?”

Leo assured Guang-Hong that he was in the clear, struggling to keep his smile at a less-than-creepy level. It was quite a feat when all he wanted was to scoop Guang-Hong in his arms and carry him upstairs. “I was having trouble sleeping, too,” he explained, trying to seem as approachable and comforting as possible. “Jet lag, right?”

Guang-Hong’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, and for a second, Leo wondered whether he was being presumptuous by trying to get Guang-Hong to open up, but that worry was eased quickly enough by a hesitant nod. “I mean…sort of.”

Well, mostly eased.

 _Sort of?_ wondered Leo. _What does that mean?_ It probably didn’t really matter, and Leo didn’t want to pry, but either way, it was great to see that Guang-Hong was up. It was a chance to talk. A chance Leo didn’t plan on wasting.

“Want something to eat?” If Leo could talk to Guang-Hong in a more private setting, one where Guang-Hong felt more comfortable, they might wind up friends by the end of the night. Or at least one step closer.

Guang-Hong looked skeptical, unsure, and for one crestfallen moment, Leo was positive he would say no.

He was already preparing himself for rejection when Guang-Hong said, “Okay.”

“Okay?” asked Leo, beaming.

Guang-Hong nodded.

Leo fought hard to resist the urge to pump his fist into the air. _Score_.

The best late-night snack, of course, had always been and would always be a cookie. Cookies didn’t take long to grab, they weren’t messy, and they were always a fantastic companion to insomnia regardless of whether that insomnia stemmed from excitement or dread. Of course, they were always best straight out of the oven, but Leo doubted Guang-Hong would have the patience for that. Honestly, he didn’t either. So he went with the next best thing: the microwave.

Leo had been making microwave cookies for years. Sometimes for himself, sometimes for Laura… He’d even made one for Isabela after one particularly trying day. He knew the recipe by heart. A lot of the time, it was his go-to cure for a bad day.

Maybe it would help Guang-Hong feel a little more at home.

With every ingredient that Leo added, he snuck a hasty glance through the corner of his eyes to read Guang-Hong’s expression, just to make sure he was watching.

He was, wide-eyed and curious.

 _Perfect_. Leo grinned eagerly to himself, careful to keep his back turned, his expression hidden.

“What are you making?” Guang-Hong finally asked once the mugs were in the microwave, his face illuminated by the light from the microwave door.

“You’ll see,” said Leo, licking the fork he’d used to stir the ingredients, not paying an ounce of mind to the raw egg; cookie dough was still delicious, no matter how unhealthy it was supposed to be. “It’s a surprise.” He winked conspiratorially at Guang-Hong, who still seemed as curious and skeptical as ever.

When Leo had finished clearing any evidence of their late-night snack from the counter, he walked to the microwave and took their blazing hot— _yeouch_ —cookies out by the mug handles. Leo set Guang-Hong’s mug on the table in front of him before taking his own seat on the opposite end.

He watched with no small amount of amusement as Guang-Hong peered into his cup, clearly trying to figure out exactly what he was about to put in his mouth, which was exactly the kind of reaction Leo had been hoping for, but then he took a bite, and Leo winced at the way his face twisted. Was it that bad? Leo’s tasted fine, and he’d made sure to add the same amount of ingredients to both cups, so maybe Guang-Hong just didn’t like sweets? That was so strange, though. Such a sweet person not liking sweet foods. Leo berated himself for not asking.

He would have been gutted had Guang-Hong not taken a second bite. Or a third. The heaviness in his heart lightened.

“I’m going to get fat.”

Leo snorted. He couldn’t help it. That had taken him so off-guard. “What?”

“Just…” Guang-Hong chewed his lip. He was so bashful. Was that a Chinese thing or just a Guang-Hong thing? “If all American food is as good as everything I’ve had today,” he continued, “I won’t be able to stop eating.”

“So you like it?” asked Leo, inching closer to the edge of his seat, excited. Relieved. _That_ was all Guang-Hong was worried about? _That_ was the reason behind those weird grimaces? He was just afraid of getting _fat_?

The mental image of a chubby Guang-Hong passed through Leo’s mind.

_Oh, god, he’d look like a chow chow puppy._

Leo bit back a grin the best he could. Some of it still shined through. “I wasn’t sure. You were kind of making a face for a while there.”

“Sorry,” said Guang-Hong, bowing his head sheepishly, as if he thought he’d done something wrong. “Chinese desserts aren’t usually this sweet.” He did have the smallest hint of a smile on his face, though. It was nice to see. Really nice. “That’s all.”

Leo was almost right, then. It wasn’t that Guang-Hong disliked sweets, just that he wasn’t used to them. Thank goodness.

“I might be able to make some,” offered Guang-Hong, and Leo couldn’t help but notice the way he sounded like his birthday had come early. He actually seemed _excited_. It seemed like he got that way when it came to food. It seemed the way to Guang-Hong’s heart was through his stomach. Leo would have to remember that.

“ _Zhongqiujie_ is next month,” continued Guang-Hong, just as bright, just as warm. Leo drummed his fingers against the fork he’d planted in his cookie, watching the way the Guang-Hong’s eyes narrowed and widened with every turn of his emotions. “ _Yue bing_ is more traditional, but I don’t think I could make that. Not without my dad’s help. But I could make some _tang yuan_.” Leo saw the hesitation in his eyes long before he heard it in his words. “Except…I don’t know if I could find all of the ingredients here. I might have trouble finding black sesame seeds.”

“We could check Chinatown,” offered Leo. “We might find it there. Especially if it’s a holiday. Um… Zhong…?”

“ _Zhongqiujie_ ,” said Guang-Hong.

Leo winced inwardly. There was no way he was going to be able to remember that.

“Um… Middle of Autumn Festival?”

That was much easier. Leo sighed, relieved, if a bit surprised. Had Guang-Hong been able to read him that effortlessly?

“Right. That.” He smiled, a little embarrassed. “ _That_. If it’s a holiday, then you might be able to find obscure ingredients pretty easily.”

“Okay.” Guang-Hong countered Leo’s smile with one of his own, this one bright and warm. “And if that doesn’t work, I could try to make _laopo bing_ instead.”

“ _Laopo bing_?”

“Wife cake,” said Guang-Hong guilelessly.

A slow, playful grin slid onto Leo’s face. _O-_ ho _. Wife cake, huh?_

Well, if he’d known Guang-Hong would take that marriage proposal so seriously…

“W-Wait.” Guang-Hong’s face flushed so deeply red that Leo could even see the color in the dim, orange light of the kitchen. Leo almost wanted to pinch his cheeks. “I wasn’t—”

“You want to make me wife cake?” pressed Leo, daring himself to see just how red Guang-Hong could turn. “You know I wasn’t being serious when I asked you to marry me, right?”

Guang-Hong hid his face in his hands, and Leo couldn’t stop himself from beaming if he tried. Guang-Hong was just so cute when he got flustered like this. Hell, he was cute in general. He could give most girls a run for their money. “No!” he spluttered. “I mean yes, I know! I wasn’t— I didn’t mean—”

Leo couldn’t contain his mirth. He was grinning so wide that his cheeks were starting to hurt. Tears were starting to prickle at his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this bizarrely happy. “I know, I know,” he said brightly. “I’m just messing with you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” Not in a million years. Guang-Hong was just too darn adorable. He was so easy to mess with, he turned so red at the smallest things… Leo wanted to see him laugh. He wanted to see every expression possible on Guang-Hong’s soft-featured face.

Or he’d thought so, right until Guang-Hong slumped in his chair. Leo’s face fell. Maybe that was an expression he could have gone without seeing. Had he gone too far?

“You were serious about being friends, though,” said Guang-Hong in a small voice. “Right?”

Leo’s train of thought derailed. It crashed and burned, tearing trenches and scattering cargo.

 _Whoa,_ he thought, desperately trying to push the cars back on the tracks. _Where did that come from?_

“Are you kidding me?” His gut clenched. “You think I can just let someone in my house, find out he likes figure skating, and let him get away with _not_ being my best friend?” Was he being too harsh? Did that one act of teasing make Guang-Hong think he didn’t like him? Maybe Leo should have heeded his mother’s words after all. Maybe he should have done just a bit more research. Maybe this was the disaster she was trying to prevent. “I finally have someone I can take to an ice rink without getting groans and sarcasm. Do you have _any idea_ how long I’ve wanted that?” There was no way he was messing that up, especially not before he even got a chance to indulge in that. “Being best friends was inevitable from the moment I saw you.”

Guang-Hong looked down at his mug, but—thank goodness—Leo could see his face well enough to tell that his smile had returned. “Thank you, Leo.”

“For what?” asked Leo. _Oh, right, for making a total ass of myself,_ Leo mentally berated as he struggled to keep his smile.

“Being my friend.”

Guang-Hong lifted his head, just barely enough to peek through his bangs. His face was still cloaked almost entirely in shadow, but there was the slightest glimmer of something in his eyes. Hope, maybe. Or worry. Maybe both, it was hard to tell. Was he really that invested already?

“Why do you feel like you have to thank me?” asked Leo, stunned. “I mean, I want it as much as you do, right?” _If not more,_ added Leo to himself. _…Probably more._ He swallowed. Okay, definitely more. There was no way Guang-Hong could have wanted to be his friend as much as he wanted to put Guang-Hong in his pocket and just _keep him_ for the rest of their lives.

Judging by the way Guang-Hong hadn’t answered, maybe he had realized that at all. Or maybe Leo was just being nosy and making him uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to,” amended Leo hurriedly. He added something about personal space, but he wasn’t even paying attention to his own words anymore. He was just trying to fix what he felt like he’d broken. Yet again he found himself wishing he had listened to his mother’s advice. Maybe then he could stop accidentally offending someone so innocent.

Even that made Leo feel guilty; he told himself he wouldn’t be babying Guang-Hong, but here he was, thinking about him like some pure, fragile child.

“I still want to answer it,” replied Guang-Hong. “It’s just…” He twisted his mug back and forth, making a soft, dull scraping noise against the table. “This is…” His hands stilled, and the sound stopped, filling the room with an almost eerie relative silence, the kind that made Leo scared to breathe. “…new for me.”

“What’s new?” asked Leo, trying to sound both interested and patient at the same time. The first part was easy. The second…not so much.

“This,” said Guang-Hong. “This… _air_. The way we’re talking, how everything feels. It’s so…” He pursed his lips, seeming thoughtful for a moment. “…personal.”

“Is that a bad thing?” asked Leo, forcing himself to keep the waver out of his voice. His arms felt like lead. “I mean, I don’t want to, like, intrude on your boundaries, or—”

“No, no,” said Guang-Hong, lifting his head to meet Leo’s gaze. The eyes staring into Leo’s from across the table reflected the warm orange of the dim night light, making it seem almost as if they provided their own light, as if Guang-Hong’s soul was shining through. “It’s really good,” he said earnestly, gripping the mouth of his cup. “It’s a really good thing. Something I’ve always wanted. I just thought it was something that happened in movies.” His voice softened wistfully, nostalgically. Warmth spread outward from Leo’s chest, sparking across his knuckles, making his fingers twitch. “Two people talking about…everything. Things that don’t mater, and things that matter more than anything, all at once.”

Leo wondered, not for the first time, how any person could be so sincere.

“Laughing at stupid things, each other, themselves… But also talking about really private feelings. Really important feelings.”

It felt… It almost seemed like Guang-Hong was some angel sent from Heaven to remind Leo of a lesson he’d learned… _should have_ learned…years before. Something he’d never quite grasped about seeing beauty in everything, even though he had seen with his own eyes _exactly_ _why_ it was so important. Guang-Hong still saw beauty that Leo missed. How could he see so much when Leo had been trying so hard for years?

 “I thought it was impossible,” continued Guang-Hong, “for something like that to be real, like it was too warm and beautiful to exist.”

He was too warm and beautiful to exist.

“But…I haven’t even known you for a day and we’re already talking like this.

There was no way he was human.

No human saw the world like this.

“The circumstances called for it,” said Leo, trying as hard as he could to sound casual, as if he hadn’t just seen Heaven in Guang-Hong’s open eyes. He felt weird enough already. _Am I staring? I’m probably staring_. Pointedly, he averted his eyes. “If you stay up late with one other person, this is always how it ends up.” How did Guang-Hong take something so ordinary and see it in such a beautiful light? “I don’t know why. It’s just a rule of life.” He met Guang-Hong’s gaze again, more carefully this time. “Stick two people in a dark room long enough, and they’ll start looking for the light in one another.”

Guang-Hong’s jaw dropped.

Leo’s eyes darted away again. What? What did he do? Why was Guang-Hong hiding his face again? Was it that light and darkness spiel?

“Oh, man. That corny, huh?”

He was just trying to keep up with Guang-Hong’s purple prose. Had he totally overshot it? “I know I was being kind of cheesy, but…”

“How are you so _cool_?”

 _What_.

“I…”

 _WHAT_.

“ _Huh_?”

How in the hell did anything Leo had done count as cool? Guang-Hong was the cool one. He was the one who saw beauty in the simplest of things and knew how to put it into words—words that weren’t even in his own language—in a way that even Leo failed at.

Guang-Hong pushed his hand through his hair, moving his long bangs away from his face and giving Leo a perfect view of his eyes as they lit up just as bright as they had before. Brighter.

“You’re so confident—” How did he manage to glean _that_? “—and kind—” Kind? When he’d been doing nothing but teasing Guang-Hong since he arrived? “—and you’re so good at dancing—” Guang-Hong thought he was good? Really? “—and you come up with poetry like _that_ without even _trying_ —”

“Poetry?” Guang-Hong was one to talk. “I was just babbling.”

“Exactly,” breathed Guang-Hong. “It comes so naturally to you. You’re amazing.”

 _Amazing? I— What—_ How _?!_

“Whoa, okay, stop.” Leo threw his hands up in surrender, desperate to keep Guang-Hong from spouting off any more compliments lest Leo’s head explode from all of the blood that was rushing into it. “How can you say stuff like that without looking at yourself?” How could someone like Guang-Hong say something like that about anyone but himself? “I mean, you’re, what, seventeen?”

“Sixteen.”

“ _Sixteen_ —” Two years younger than Leo himself, then. Probably less; Leo had only turned eighteen a couple of weeks prior. “—and you went halfway around the world _by yourself_ to live for a year in a country you’ve never been to before and stay with a family you’ve never met before.” Leo shook his head. He was awestruck enough when Laura had explained why _she_ wanted to participate in the program, but Leo was _used_ to _Laura_ being amazing. That was just how she was. Top of her class in everything, class president in the student council, mega-nerd in the best way possible, bound to be valedictorian… Of course _she_ would want to study abroad. It was just in her nature. But Guang-Hong was just so…small. He wasn’t a thirty-year-old in a sixteen-year-old’s body like Laura was. He was honestly just a kid, a _shy_ kid, and he’d been able to do something like this in the face of that.

“That takes some serious guts.” Leo shook his head. He was in awe of that level of courage. “You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. That’s what’s _really_ cool.”

“I’m not brave at _all_! I can’t even sleep without Yu-Tuzi!”

Just like that, the atmosphere. The orange warmth of the night light gave way, suddenly belonging to the blazing skies of Hell. The darkness that seemed to shrink away from Guang-Hong before suddenly seemed to permeate every surface that dared to touch shadow with a cold, harrowing grip.

The world of beauty reflected in Guang-Hong’s eyes had fallen to chaos, and Leo had no idea why.

“Without what?”

What did that confession change? Where had the warmth gone? Why wasn’t Guang-Hong talking anymore? Why was he just…whining with his mouth covered by his hands and his forehead pressed against the table?

The light was gone.

Leo wanted it back.

“You can tell me,” he whispered, almost pleading. “I won’t laugh.” He felt oddly like he would do almost anything to win back this near-stranger’s happiness. It felt like every light in the world had gone out.

“You will,” moaned Guang-Hong.

Leo resisted the temptation to get up and walk around the table, to cradle Guang-Hong’s head, pet his hair, and ask what was wrong directly…but only barely.

“No,” insisted Leo instead, his voice as gentle as it could possibly be. He forced a smile, even though Guang-Hong couldn’t see it. “I won’t. I promise.”

Guang-Hong didn’t say a word.

Leo mentally rewound the conversation, thinking back to the sentence that had broken the atmosphere in the first place.

“…Is it a stuffed animal?” It made the most sense.

Guang-Hong whined again. That was a yes.

“What is it?” asked Leo, forcing as much happiness and acceptance into his voice as possible. It wasn’t too hard. The idea of someone as small and cute as Guang-Hong holding a stuffed animal— _sleeping_ with a stuffed animal—was too cute to pass up. More than that, though…Leo just hoped that showing how thrilled he was at the thought would be enough to bring him out of hiding. “A bear? A dog? I want to see!”

Guang-Hong lifted his head. Thank goodness. Even if his skepticism from before had returned, the room still seemed to regain some of its lost light. “…She’s a rabbit. I’ve…had her since I was a baby.”

“So is she downstairs?” asked Leo eagerly, his leg bouncing underneath the table.

“Um, no…” Guang-Hong sat up a little straighter. Even more light seemed to return. “I…left her at home?”

Leo’s leg stopped bouncing. His brow furrowed. “Didn’t you just say you can’t sleep without her?”

Guang-Hong didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

“You didn’t bring her because you didn’t want anyone to see.” Leo’s expression softened. It was sad. Sad, and just so wrong. How could someone like Guang-Hong who saw beauty in late-night talks, in cats who hated everyone, in the stupidest things about Leo, fail to see the beauty in himself? “That’s what you meant by jet lag just being a part of it.”

Guang-Hong just stared at the table.

No. Leo refused. He wouldn’t allow this to go on.

He pushed his hair back and climbed to his feet. “Wait here a sec,” he said, and he disappeared into the basement without telling Guang-Hong where he was going or why. He knew Guang-Hong would just protest. Leo didn’t want to give him the chance.

The entire hallway echoed as Leo thundered down the stairs, hurrying to his bedroom as quickly as his feet would carry him. A single dim, blue night light was Leo’s guiding light to his bedroom, whereupon he found a dresser, and sitting on that dresser, Doricito.

He gently lifted Doricito, a determined smile on his face.

“I know we’ve been through a lot,” he said softly, “but I _know_ you’ll like Guang-Hong. He’s real nice, and he’ll give you lots of hugs. Way more than I give you, so don’t be fussy, okay?”

Leo gave the lion one last hug, trying to squeeze that strangely doubtful look out of his eyes, and carried him upstairs, chanting a mantra of _both hands, both hands, both hands_ with every step he climbed.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he carried the lion around the table to where Guang-Hong sat, took a deep breath, and held the lion out in front of his face.

 _Both hands,_ he reminded himself.

“This is Doricito,” explained Leo, holding onto the lion in his hands just a bit too hard in an attempt to keep his hands from shaking. “Doradocito, technically, but Doricito is fine.”

Guang-Hong’s eyes were already wide with alarm.

“I know it’s not the same as having your rabbit,” added Leo urgently, “but I thought it might be better than nothing. At least you have someone to hold onto, right? And I know from experience that he’s a good snuggle buddy, even if I haven’t slept with him for ten years. I think it’s about time that he had someone to snuggle with, and I know he’ll be happier with you than he is judging me from my dresser.” It almost felt to Leo as though he were trying to sell Doricito on Guang-Hong as must as he was trying to sell Guang-Hong on Doricito. He knew they’d like each other. He just had to convince them of the same.

Using both hands, Leo reached down and carefully set Doricito on a very shocked-looking Guang-Hong’s lap.

“I… I can’t—”

“What, you don’t like him?” pushed Leo, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, it’s not that!” said Guang-Hong. “He’s very cute—”

“So what’s the problem?”

“He’s yours.” Guang-Hong shook his head, his hands hovering a few inches away from Doricito. It looked as if he were afraid to touch him. “It’s not right for me to take him from you.”

“You’re not taking him, though,” Leo pointed out, frowning. “I’m offering. Besides, he’ll be happier with you.” Doricito gave the best hugs. He deserved to have someone who would hug him.

Besides, he hated the idea of Guang-Hong fighting insomnia on his own. If Leo could just convince him, _somehow_ , that he _wanted_ Guang-Hong to take Doricito, that he wasn’t just offering for the sake of being nice…

Desperate, he dropped to his knees in front of Guang-Hong and, ignoring the flustered squeak from his new friend, reached for Doricito’s head. He tilted it back until its expressive, embroidered eyes were pointed at Guang-Hong’s face.

“See?” prodded Leo. “He wants to be with you.”

He peeked over the top of Doricito’s mane, mentally crossing his fingers. If Leo knew Guang-Hong wasn’t able to sleep, he wouldn’t be able to, either.

Guang-Hong whined again—he really was a puppy—but this whine was different. _This_ whine sounded like a “caving in” whine.

“Okay,” said Guang-Hong. “But the second you want him back—”

“I won’t,” said Leo firmly, climbing to his feet again. “He belongs with you. That’s that.”

Guang-Hong still looked less than convinced, but Leo was, after a while, able to coax him into relaxing by talking about figure skating.

At least, he was able to make Guang-Hong relax until they got downstairs again.

“Are you sure this is okay?”

Leo turned his head, fully intending to give Guang-Hong a pointed, if slightly aggravated stare. He would have gone through with it if not for one thing.

Specifically, the fact that his heart clenched as soon as he saw Doricito in Guang-Hong’s arms.

God, that lion was as big as his entire torso. How was he supposed to glare at that?

“It’s fine,” said Leo, his voice softer than intended. “You worry too much, Guang-Hong.” He stopped at his own door. He wondered… “Hey, am I pronouncing that right?”

“Huh?” Guang-Hong lifted his head, holding Doricito closer to his chest, and… Oh, geez. That wasn’t fair. He was like Medusa with Doricito in his arms, like anyone who dared to look at something that cute in the face was bound to turn to stone. “My name?”

“Y-Yeah,” said Leo, hoping Guang-Hong didn’t notice the way his voice had cracked. He didn’t seem to, but that didn’t stop Leo from overcorrecting and dropping his voice a tad too low right afterward. “If I’m saying your name wrong, I’d rather know now than later, when it’s a habit.”

Guang-Hong didn’t seem to notice that, either.

“You’re saying it close enough,” said Guang-Hong, who probably didn’t even notice the way he was rocking back and forth with that _frikkin’ adorable lion_. As if Guang-Hong needed to be more precious than he already was. He looked so _damn happy,_ Leo could _scream_ —

“Which means I’m saying it wrong,” said Leo, forcing himself to ignore that twinkle in Guang-Hong’s eyes. This was too important for Leo to get distracted. “‘Close enough’ _isn’t_ close enough. Not for me. I want it to be perfect. I’ve heard enough people pronounce _de la Iglesia_ wrong to know how it gets annoying after a while. I want to say _your name_. Not something that’s _close enough_ to your name.”

“It’s…” Oh, no. Oh, _no_. Guang-Hong was _not_ allowed to make that face. What the hell. “It’s _Guang_ - _Hong_. You say it like… _Gwang_ -Hong.”

It was a good thing that Leo had asked, and it was good that Guang-Hong could be convinced to teach him to say it correctly, but Leo had not been expecting that expression. He hadn’t been prepared for Guang-Hong to look like he’d never heard anything so thoughtful in his life. He was so sweet it was almost frustrating. “Can you say it slower?”

Guang-Hong inched forward, leaning over Doricito’s head. “ _Guaaaaaang-Hong_.”

“Gueng-Hong?” tried Leo. It still felt a little off coming out of his mouth.

“Guang-Hong,” came the correction, and Leo leaned forward, watching Guang-Hong’s lips and jaw to see how they formed the word. If he couldn’t mimic the sound just right based on hearing it alone, maybe he could mimic the way Guang-Hong said it.

“Gwung-Hong,” tried Leo. It was _still_ off. But it was getting closer. One or two more tries, maybe.

“Almost. _Guang_ … _Hong_.” Every time he spoke, Guang-Hong took a step forward. Maybe he wasn’t as shy to closeness as Leo thought, or maybe just having a stuffed animal in his arms made him feel more confident. Their faces were… _really_ close, now that Leo thought about it.

“Guang-Hong,” said Leo, and this time, the sounds sat in his mouth the way it felt like they were supposed to.

Guang-Hong seemed to think so as well. At least, that was what Leo could glean from the way his eyes widened and he stepped back, apparently startled by how well Leo had done. “That’s perfect.”

“Guang-Hong,” said Leo again, practicing the way the vowels rolled off his tongue. It would take some getting used to before he could pronounce Guang-Hong’s name properly without thinking, but at least he knew how to do it now. One step closer to not being an ass. “All right. I’ve got it. I won’t forget.”

“I want to hear you say it in the morning,” said Guang-Hong, sounding not unlike a stern teacher, which was a stark contrast from his face, which was only half-peeking out of Doricito’s fur.

“You will,” said Leo. Then an idea struck him. Inspiration so sudden and so strong that he wouldn’t have been surprised to look up and see a lightbulb appear over his head. “Hey, what’s ‘good night’ in Chinese?”

Guang-Hong cocked his head, looking at Leo like the curious puppy he was. “Well, in Mandarin, it’s _wan an_.” That’s right. Leo had forgotten that there were two major languages in China. He couldn’t even remember what the other language was called at the moment, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Mandarin was Guang-Hong’s language, so that was the one he was interested in.

“W-What about your language?” asked Guang-Hong.

“Spanish, you mean?” Leo smiled. “ _Buenas noches_.”

“ _Buenas noches_ ,” said Guang-Hong. Leo wondered whether Spanish spoken with a Chinese accent was always that cute or if it was just Guang-Hong. “Okay. _Buenas noches_ , Leo.”

 _Oh_.

Okay, wow. Stealing his idea? Rude.

…But very cute.

He needed to hear Guang-Hong speaking more Spanish as soon as possible. Even those two simple words were enough to glue a permanent smile to Leo’s face.

“ _Wan an_ , Guang-Hong.”

Guang-Hong, apparently too tired to remember basic motor functions, somehow managed to stumble backwards into his bedroom door before making his way through it. Leo laughed, shaking his head, and made his way into his own room.

Just like earlier, his mind was quick to latch onto thought of his sister as he crawled into bed, but this time, only one thought rode with Leo to his dreams, one that didn’t inhibit his sleep in the slightest.

He just wished that he could call Laura, if just to tell her about how amazing Guang-Hong was.

Leo woke the following morning to sunlight bleeding through the small window near the ceiling of his bedroom. In his first few bleary minutes of the day, he recalled two things. One, his sister was in Japan, and she wouldn’t be back until May. That realization twisted Leo’s stomach for less than a second before he remembered the second thing: That Guang-Hong was the one staying in their house, in her room, until she returned.

Having remembered that, Leo threw the blankets off himself and jumped out of bed, his feet hitting the carpet with a solid thud. The smell of butter and hot maple syrup hit him the second he opened his bedroom door, and normally, that would be cause for rushing up the stairs as fast as possible. But not that day.

“Guang-Hong,” called Leo, knocking on his new neighbor’s door. “You should wake up! I smell waffles!”

From the other side of the door, Leo heard a sound that landed somewhere between “whine” and “squeak”. Stretching?

“Guang-Hong,” he tried again, this time paying his pronunciation a little more mind, just to make absolutely sure his lessons from the night before had sunken in. “Breakfast.”

One loud thud, another whine, and a few clumsy-sounding footsteps later, the door opened, and Guang-Hong leaned into the door frame, eyes closed, Doricito held tight to his small frame.

Well, that was just… _unspeakably_ adorable.

“Not a morning person?” asked Leo. “Or is this jet lag again?”

Guang-Hong mumbled something that Leo couldn’t understand. Either he was too tired to care much about the way his accent sounded, or he was so exhausted that he’d forgotten to speak in English altogether. At least his eyes had opened.

“You should get dressed and come upstairs with me,” said Leo. Part of him didn’t even want Guang-Hong to waste time getting dressed, but he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries when Guang-Hong still seemed so timid. Eating breakfast in pajamas was probably a bit too casual. “I think Mom’s making waffles.”

Guang-Hong didn’t answer. Instead, he tilted his head up a little, raised a hand from Doricito, and touched under Leo’s naval with two icy fingers.

Leo froze.

“Guang-Hong?”

The scar. He must have just noticed.

Leo opened his mouth, searching for a way to explain where it had come from without getting too personal, but he never got a chance to find the words.

“OH!” Guang-Hong stole his hand away, very much awake now, his eyes wide with horror. “ _Wo d_ — I’m sorry! I don’t—”

“It’s fine!” assured Leo, cutting Guang-Hong short before he could stammer out the rest of his stuttered apology. “We all do weird stuff when we’re half-asleep. Are you okay?”

Guang-Hong nodded, shaking like a leaf, and hid his face behind Doricito’s mane.

Leo reached out, his hand hesitating inches from Guang-Hong’s sleep-scattered hair, and he carefully dropped it onto Guang-Hong’s hair. Leo wasn’t sure if Guang-Hong had flinched under his hand or whether that was just more violent shaking. “There,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Now we’re even. Touch for touch.”

He pulled his hand back, and Guang-Hong emerged from Doricito’s mane, his lips curved downward into a skeptical pout, like he disagreed very much that they were even. Well, he wasn’t hiding his face anymore.

“I’m gonna get dressed, all right?” said Leo. “You can take a shower or something if you want. Maybe it’ll wake you up a bit.”

“Okay,” said Guang-Hong in a small voice.

Leo almost wanted to offer to walk Guang-Hong to the bathroom, just to make sure that he really was okay, but, deciding that would be weird, he instead returned to his bedroom to get properly dressed and grab his phone before heading upstairs.

Sure enough, he found his mother in the kitchen alongside a large bowl of waffle batter and the waffle iron plugged in and running hot.

“’Morning, Mamá,” greeted Leo, nearly skipping to the bowl. “Is Enrique not awake yet?”

“No, he is,” said Elena. “He’s out jogging.”

“Already?” asked Leo. “What time is it?”

“Nearly ten,” said Elena, reaching around her newspaper for her coffee cup.

“You’re kidding,” said Leo. “That late?” Well, he supposed it did make sense that he’d slept in a little, considering how late he and Guang-Hong had stayed up the night before.

“I just woke up myself,” admitted Elena. “A late morning is fine every once in a while. Still, don’t make a habit of it, all right, Leo? Not so soon before school starts.”

“Yes, Mamá,” said Leo.

“Where’s Guang-Hong?” asked Elena.

Leo uncapped the can of canola oil sitting next to the waffle iron. “Showering,” he said. “I think, anyway. He’s a little loopy this morning. Probably jet lag. He might have passed out on the way to the bathroom or something.” Leo frowned at the thought. Maybe he should have walked Guang-Hong after all. “What time is it in China right now? Do you know?”

“Two in the morning,” said Elena; when Leo looked over his shoulder, she had her phone in her hand, the newspaper she’d been reading lying abandoned on the tabletop.

“No wonder, then,” said Leo, his attention back on the waffle iron and the batter he was pouring in the center, careful not to add too much lest it ooze out the sides. “If I took a nap in the afternoon and woke up in the middle of the night, I’d be loopy, too.”

“It probably doesn’t help that the two of you stayed up until two in the morning here,” said Elena just a little too casually.

Leo winced, turning the waffle iron over. “You heard us?” He thought they would have been safe to talk at a normal volume with the rest of the family sleeping on the floor above. Apparently not. _Oops_.

“You two got a little loud once,” said Elena, holding her coffee with both hands, her wise smile peeking over the top of the cup. “Once was all it took to know that you were awake.”

“I’m sorry, Mamá,” said Leo, resting his hips against the counter. “Neither of us could sleep. He was dealing with jet lag,” …and not having anything to cuddle, but his Mamá didn’t need to know that. “and I was…”

“Missing Laura,” said Elena, a tired crease pinching the corners of her eyes. Her cup made a quiet clop against the table as she set it down, turning her full attention on Leo. “I know, Mijo. Me, too. I was already awake when I heard you in the kitchen.”

Leo nodded, sighing. “It’s weird, right? We’re not gonna see her lounging around on the couch with her nose in a textbook for…” He swallowed, his gaze dropping to the floor. “…nine months.”

“True,” said Elena, stopping Leo before he started dwelling. “But if she hadn’t gone to Japan, we would not have had the idea to get involved with the program ourselves, and we would not have Guang-Hong here now.”

“ _True_ ,” echoed Leo, who brightened immediately. “I’m glad I got to talk to him last night, just the two of us. He opened up a bit more. He’s a real nice guy; I liked what I saw underneath all the shyness, you know?”

“Well, to keep Mr. Nice Guy in one piece…” Elena gave Leo a pointed look. “No ice rink today. I’m not letting you put blades on the feet of someone who apparently can’t even be trusted to carry himself to the shower.”

Leo groaned and let his head roll back over his shoulders. “How did you know that’s what I wanted to do today?”

“Because you proposed to him the second he said he liked figure skating,” said Elena, reaching for her coffee again, that same casual wisdom from before straying back into her tone. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out your plans after that, Mijo.”

Leo sighed, resigned and lifted his head again. “What do we do today, then?”

“Just because everything left your head the second Guang-Hong said ‘figure skating,’” huffed Elena, “doesn’t mean I wasn’t paying attention. He also likes movies, so you could have a movie marathon in the lounge.”

Leo opened his mouth to protest, but…actually…that was perfect. It might help Guang-Hong open up a bit more if there was no pressure to talk, if they could just sit together for a while until they got used to each other. “That’s…a good idea, Mamá.”

“I have many of them,” said Elena, smiling against her coffee cup. “You would know that if you listened to your Mamá more often.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Leo, and he really meant it. “…Hey, do we have any strawberries left?”

Within fifteen minutes, Guang-Hong appeared in the kitchen, hair damp, but eyes no less glazed over than they had been when he’d touched Leo’s scar.

“’Morning,” said Leo warmly, reaching maybe a little too eagerly for the plate he’d just finished preparing for Guang-Hong. On it sat three waffles, stacked tall, with a few sliced strawberries carefully scattered across the top.

“I don’t know if you like whipped cream or not,” added Leo, “so I put the can on the table. You can use as much of it as you want.”

Guang-Hong, eyes still unfocused, lowered his gaze to the waffles. It took him a moment to even react to the food in front of him, but as soon as he had, his eyes widened, and he raised his hands to receive the plate. Leo dropped the plate in his hands with a welcoming smile.

“It looks delicious,” said Guang-Hong, a smile so sweet on his lips that Leo couldn’t help thinking that the syrup on his own plate paled in comparison. Honestly, he wasn’t fully convinced that Guang-Hong wasn’t a flower in human form. “Thank you.”

“Thank Mamá,” said Leo. “I just used the iron. Mamá was the one who did the hard part.”

“But it was Leo’s idea to add the strawberries,” said Elena, who was still finishing her coffee. “How are you feeling, Guang-Hong? How’s your first morning in America?”

“I’m fine,” insisted Guang-Hong, boldly defying the message his body language was sending: a slight wobble that suggested he was about to fall over where he stood.

Leo rested a hand on Guang-Hong’s shoulder to steady him. “You sure?” he asked in a quiet voice meant just for them. “You might want to sit down.”

Guang-Hong nodded, still smiling, though the daze in his eyes was unchanged. “I’m sure,” he said, unmoving.

Leo responded by pulling a chair away from the table, just far enough for Guang-Hong to access it easily, before taking both of his shoulders and guiding him toward his seat. Maybe it would have been weird to escort him to the bathroom, but this was something Leo thought he could get away with.

“Sit,” he said, his voice more gentle than his hands.

Guang-Hong squeaked—which made Leo want to scream—but he did as he was told all the same. Leo waited for him to set his breakfast on the table before he grabbed the back of his chair and scooted him in. Leo laughed at the second squeak he’d earned and patted Guang-Hong’s shoulder before returning to his own chair.

“Do you drink coffee?” asked Elena.

“No, thank you,” said Guang-Hong, reaching for the fork that teetered at the edge of his plate.

“What would you like, then?” asked Elena as she stood from her chair, rattling off a list of every single beverage they had in their house.

“Um…” Guang-Hong sat up straighter in his chair. As if he didn’t look tense enough already. “Juice sounds good.”

“Excellent choice,” said Elena, reaching into the fridge for the jug. “So, Guang-Hong, are you ready for school? Do you have all of your supplies? Or do we need to take a trip to the store before Monday?”

“I have everything I need,” said Guang-Hong, reaching carefully for the whipped cream. “Thank you for asking.”

“Don’t worry about being so formal,” said Leo, nudging the syrup and butter closer to Guang-Hong just in case he was too shy to ask for them. “We’re your family, at least for now. You can relax around us.” Not that his mom was helping by being so… _upright_ about everything. But he knew that was what she did when she met new people. She’d start treating Guang-Hong like one of her kids within a couple of days, he was sure. Guang-Hong, though, he wasn’t as sure about.

“Um…” Guang-Hong shifted in his chair. At first, it seemed like he was just nervous, but Leo quickly noticed, much to his relief, that the tightness in Guang-Hong’s shoulders that had been there since he sat down had lessened. “I’ll try. Thank you.” Guang-Hong paused, frowning thoughtfully. “… _Thanks_.”

Leo smiled in approval and returned to his waffles, though he still stole glances across the table, just to make sure that Guang-Hong was still okay, that he wasn’t going to fall asleep in his waffles or freak out in the face of Elena’s questions.

“I’m ready for school, too,” said Elena conversationally, setting a glass of orange juice next to Guang-Hong’s plate.

Guang-Hong’s hand paused halfway to his glass, a curious expression tugging his eyebrows together.

“I teach,” explained Elena. “Not at the school you’ll be going to. At SFSU. Classes there start on Monday as well.”

“Oh,” said Guang-Hong. “What do you teach?” Leo tried not to laugh at the face he made when he took a drink from his orange juice. Was he not expecting the pulp? Did it taste different from the orange juice in China? Did they even _have_ orange juice in China? Surely they must.

“Physics,” said Elena, settling back into her chair with a smugness to her expression that Leo doubted Guang-Hong would have caught without knowing her longer than a few days.

“Really?” asked Guang-Hong, eyes widening with what looked like genuine interest. “That’s so _cool_.”

“Don’t tell her that,” said Leo, free of malice. “She’s got a big enough head. She doesn’t need your help.”

“Hush, Leo,” said Elena playfully. “It _is_ cool. Enrique thinks it’s cool. He followed in my footsteps, didn’t he?”

“He runs a science webseries,” explained Leo, turning to Guang-Hong. “Like, educational videos about engineering.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m surrounded by nerds.”

“Everyone is a nerd about something,” said Elena. “For example, you’re a figure skating nerd.”

“It’s true,” sighed Leo. “Speaking of which—”

“Leo de la Iglesia, _don’t you dare bring up the ice rink,_ ” said Elena, warning in Spanish to keep Guang-Hong from hearing.

“I wasn’t going to, Mamá,” replied Leo in English. “I was just going to ask if Guang-Hong had seen _The King and the Skater_.”

“I haven’t,” said Guang-Hong, sitting straighter in his chair. “I’ve _heard_ of it. I know all of the words to ‘Shall We Skate’—” Of course he did. It seemed like half the figure skating world had skated to it at some point. Even Leo had made a program for it once, just for fun. “—and I know Phichit Chulanont likes it a lot, but I’ve never actually watched it. I’ve always wanted to, but I’ve never been able to find it anywhere.”

“We’re gonna fix that,” said Leo eagerly. “Today. Fair warning, though: It’s cheesy.”

“Good,” said Guang-Hong. “I like cheesy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to make Leo's microwave cookies [And careful, this recipe is pretty rich. There's a reason Guang-Hong made faces.]:  
> Melt a tablespoon [one-eighth of a stick] of butter in a coffee mug  
> Separate an egg  
> Mix the yolk into the coffee mug  
> Stir in a tablespoon of white sugar  
> Stir in a tablespoon of brown sugar  
> Stir in a pinch of salt  
> Stir in half a teaspoon of vanilla  
> Add three tablespoons of flour, stirring thoroughly after every tablespoon added  
> Stir in however many chocolate chips you want [I usually go for around two tablespoons]  
> Microwave the concoction. The amount of time it needs to be microwaved will vary depending on your microwave, but it should be somewhere between 50 second and a full minute. [For my microwave, it's 54 seconds.]  
> Let sit for a full minute.  
> Enjoy.
> 
> As always, kick my ass if I got anything wrong culture-wise.
> 
> Reader participation: Tell me about your holiday traditions! I'm eager to know. It's almost Christmas [and Hanukkah begins on almost the same day!] so tell me what you're up to this year, if anything. Tell me about traditions related to your subcultures, or weird stuff your family does around Christmas [or other wintery holidays] that you've never heard of anyone else doing, or, heck, even a specific memory of one thing you did one year.
> 
> My beta again is the lovely Fiorelily. She's the frikkin' best. Seriously, I can't emphasize enough how much she helps me.


	5. Things We Did and Didn't Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All the things I knew I didn't know and didn't want to know, that you told me just to tell me later that you'd told me so, come flooding back to me now." --The Magnetic Fields

_Warm. Everything was warm. Too warm for fog, or so he thought, yet, inexplicably, the fog was there, permeating every alleyway and obscuring his vision. The air was humid, heavy, making it hard to breathe. Hard to run. Hard, but not impossible. Even if it were impossible, nothing could have stopped him._

_He couldn’t stop running. He didn’t dare. There was too much at stake. If he stopped… If he stopped even for a second to catch his breath… No, a second was too long. A second could be a second too late._

_He couldn’t risk it._

“Guang-Hong…”

_If he didn’t make it in time—_

“Guang-Hong! Breakfast!”

Guang-Hong flinched his way back into consciousness, clutching something soft and furry tight to his chest. He wasn’t running through a dark alleyway in the dead of night. He wasn’t even in _China_. After blinking a few times at the pale morning blur that was his borrowed dresser, he began to realize where he was.

He was in a blue, blue bedroom in San Francisco. 

America. 

And Leo was at his door.

With a sleepy, unintelligible murmur, Guang-Hong rolled over and hit the floor. Doricito managed to save his chin from near-certain rug burn, but it didn’t stop the loud thump that quaked the entire room. Not that Guang-Hong really cared about that thump. He didn’t care about anything at all at the moment, save for how heavy his head felt. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so tired. Had he ever been so tired? What time was it in Shanghai? What time was it in _San Francisco_ , for that matter? 

Guang-Hong climbed shakily to his feet and stumbled toward the door. It took several attempts at aimless slapping before his hand found the doorknob, but once it had, it easily turned the knob and pulled the door open.

 _Bright,_ his brain registered upon opening the door. _Very bright. Ouch._ The hallway light was on. Guang-Hong closed his eyes, trying to turn his face away from the brightness. At least, that was his intention, one that was interrupted when he belatedly noticed that Leo was speaking. 

“ _What did you say?_ ” mumbled Guang-Hong. At some level, he registered that he was asking in Mandarin, but that layer of his mind was far, far in the back, somewhere behind the layer that _should_ have _cared_ that he was speaking Mandarin. 

“I think Mom’s making waffles,” said Leo; his English kick-started Guang-Hong’s memory of the language.

 _Waffles_ was something that Guang-Hong could understand. He’d had those several times. He’d always loved street food, and waffles were often sold on the same carts as _ji dan zai_ because they used the same batter. It wasn’t anything new and exciting like the cheesy noodles he’d tasted the night before, but this worked well; Guang-Hong was too tired to feel adventurous.

Apparently, however, his fingers didn’t agree with that last thought.

There was a mark on Leo’s stomach. Long, wide, and deep pink, starting just over his naval and extending downward just far enough to touch the waistband of his pants. It seemed to be a scar, or, at the very least, that was what it felt like. It occurred to Guang-Hong that he shouldn’t know what something felt like unless he’d touched it, and it occurred to him, less than a second afterward, that knowing that the scar was soft meant that he must have _been_ touching it. But, of course, that was ridiculous, because Guang-Hong would never have touched Leo so intimately so soon after they had met, so there must have been another way for him to know that the stretch of pink skin beneath his naval was soft enough to be scar tissue, because if there wasn’t, then that meant that Guang-Hong had been touching Leo’s scar for several seconds, paying no mind to how overly familiar the contact was. If that were the case, then Guang-Hong would just be able to look down Leo’s scar and see his fingers pressed against it.

_…Oh._

“OH!” Guang-Hong yanked his hand away, his eyes wide.

 _Whoops._ Big _whoops._ Very _big whoops._

“ _Wo d—_ ” _Nope! No Mandarin! Try again! English!_ “I’m sorry! I don’t—!”

“It’s fine,” insisted Leo, all kind words and easy-going smiles as always, but Guang-Hong knew otherwise. He knew that it was most certainly _not_ fine. It was an _extreme_ invasion of personal space. It wasn’t as if Guang-Hong had touched Leo’s hand or his leg. No, he’d wandered dangerously close to _the waistband of Leo’s pants_.

“We all do weird stuff when we’re half-asleep,” continued Leo, who didn’t seem to have even the slightest hint of anxiety on his face, no matter how hard Guang-Hong looked.

Guang-Hong tried to shake his head, because _no_ , that was _not_ normal behavior, regardless whether someone was half-asleep or not, but the rest of Guang-Hong’s body was already shaking so much that any shake of his head was canceled out by his trembling.

Leo’s voice, still calm and cool and soothing, cut through Guang-Hong’s reeling mind. “Are you okay?” he asked, gentle and understanding. Worried.

 _Oh, no…_ Guang-Hong had worried him.

He ducked down, hiding his mortified face in Doricito’s mane. He dreaded to think what Leo must have thought of him underneath all of the politeness and perfection. This wasn’t just a matter of being embarrassing, this was Guang-Hong being outright rude. He’d crossed so many lines with just a single touch.

 _I probably made him so uncomfortable,_ groaned Guang-Hong inside his head, the words bouncing off of the inside of his skull, rattling around with every tremble of his body. _He’s just being nice. He’s just being—_  

The warm weight of a strong hand dropped onto his head, cutting off Guang-Hong’s train of thought.

Timidly, he peeked out from Doricito’s fur, eyeing Leo through the few stray mane hairs that still stretched into his vision. Leo was…grinning. Enthusiastic. Not uncomfortable at all. Or, at least, not as uncomfortable as Guang-Hong himself was.

_Where does his confidence come from?_

“There,” said Leo, tossing Guang-Hong’s hair from side to side between his spread fingers. “Now we’re even. Touch for touch.”

 _Even?_ Guang-Hong pouted, half his face still hidden behind Doricito’s head. _How are we even?_ Maybe it was a cultural barrier. Maybe such contact wasn’t as intimate in America as Guang-Hong would have thought. After all, the de la Iglesias seemed like very touchy people, and if they were anything to go on, then Americans were much more prone to physical contact than people back home. Maybe it wasn’t all that ordinary to touch someone so close to their—

 _No_ , thought Guang-Hong, watching Leo’s hand as it fell back to his side. _That was definitely still weird._ It was all he could do to hope that Leo really did understand that it was just an accident, that it was just because Guang-Hong was curious about the scar and not curious about…anything else. 

“I’m gonna get dressed, all right?” announced Leo, taking a step toward his door. “You can take a shower or something if you want; maybe it’ll wake you up a bit.” 

“Okay,” mumbled Guang-Hong, muffled by Doricito’s stuffing, expression muted. He was willing to try anything to keep him from further humiliating himself. 

Leo waved, his always warm smile still on his face, and he half-jogged the short distance back to his room, closing the door behind himself, leaving Guang-Hong alone in the hallway with Doricito. He lowered the lion from his face, heart still pounding just a little too fast as he retreated into his room, flashbulb snapshots of the two touches he and Leo had just shared flipping through his head like a two-picture slideshow, interrupted only occasionally by that last warm smile Guang-Hong had caught before Leo closed his door. 

It was still hard for Guang-Hong to accept that he was in America. It felt like some part of him refused to believe that America was a real place, even when he was standing in it. It had always seemed so unreachable; it _still_ felt unreachable, even when Guang-Hong had spent the past seventeen or eighteen hours in California. It felt like he was in some sort of theme park or an elaborate trick. He could Just as easily believe he was in the United States as he would if someone told him he was in Narnia or Oz or Middle-Earth.

And just as unreachable was Leo.

He was just so…unlike anything Guang-Hong had ever known. He was boyish and gregarious, but he was gentle and caring at the same time. He had a sort of charm about him that Guang-Hong couldn’t quite find the words for. He didn’t seem any more real than the rest of San Francisco. Meeting him had been like being colorblind and suddenly seeing a shock of red burst out of a sea of sepia tone. One crimson tulip in a garden of gold.

Frowning thoughtfully, Guang-Hong closed his door and flipped around, bracing his back against it and turning his attention to the lion plush in his arms.

“ _What do you think?_ ” he asked in softly-spoken Mandarin. “ _You know him better than I do. Does he actually like me, or is he just being nice?_ ”

Doricito didn’t answer, but then, Guang-Hong hadn’t expected him to.

“ _Has he ever cried into you?_ ” asked Guang-Hong, looking into Doricito’s big, green, embroidered eyes, searching for some proof that Leo was human and not some celestial body beyond his reach. “ _Has he ever told you his secrets? Does he even have secrets? Do you know?_  "

Doricito stayed as still and silent as the moon.

Guang-Hong huffed and stood from the door. It was silly, talking to a stuffed animal at his age, treating it like a real person no differently than how he treated Yu-Tuzi in primary school Not that he said goodbye to her with any less respect the night he boarded the plane.

Still, mute or not, the fact that Doricito was in Guang-Hong’s arms at all made a world of difference. It meant that Leo had led Guang-Hong into the warmth of his kitchen when Guang-Hong needed a lifeline. IT meant that Leo had convinced Guang-Hong to drop his guard for a moment, something that even his parents struggled to do, just long enough to talk over a too-sweet dessert that Guang-Hong still swore had been made of magic because there was no possible way that anyone who wasn’t a wizard could whip that up so quickly.

Doricito meant that the night before was real, that Leo really had asked Guang-Hong questions about his life and his interests and how he was feeling and that Leo always seemed genuinely engaged in the answers.

Doricito meant that Leo had sacrificed a piece of his childhood to ensure that Guang-Hong would get a good night’s sleep when he got back to his room.

Doricito meant that either Leo was genuinely interested in Guang-Hong as a person, or he was undeniable proof that Heaven existed, because no one from Earth could possibly be that altruistic.

With a sigh, Guang-Hong set Doricito on the edge of his bed and walked to his borrowed chest of drawers to choose an outfit for the day. He automatically grabbed a white polo and a pair of black highwaters that hugged his calves.

He frowned at himself in the mirror, clothes folded over his arm; it had just struck him what he was holding. The outfit he’d chosen. It was the one outfit he owned that somehow never seemed to look bad in pictures. Guang-Hong felt a little silly, now that he realized what he was doing, but there was no denying it.

He was trying to impress Leo.

Yes, he knew that it probably wouldn’t make much of a difference what he was wearing; Leo probably wouldn’t even notice. And if he did, Guang-Hong doubted that some nice clothes would make an impact after Leo had seen him with his hair sticking in every possible direction and bags under his eyes that looked deep enough to carry oceans. Still, it didn’t hurt; he might be able to reclaim a little dignity after the slip-up with the scar.

Guang-Hong tried to force his reflection to smile. He’d had a rough start thanks to his wandering hands, yes, but he was still going to spend the rest of the day in America. In _California_. With _Leo_. Guang-Hong had so many reasons to be happy. He shouldn’t have let himself forget that, even for a moment.

His reflection, however, still looked less than convinced.

The bathroom, as if trying to make a point of the way Guang-Hong’s day had started out, was cold. Just cold. Not freezing yet, but Guang-Hong already knew that once he stepped out of the warm water and back onto the linoleum, it would feel like ice under his feet. There was no looking forward to that. 

He set his clothes on the counter and turned around to lock the door, only to realize he didn’t have a clue how. There was no button to press, no latch to turn, and even upon bending down to look the doorknob in the eye, Guang-Hong couldn’t see any other visible means of locking it. He was sure it had to have a lock—it was a bathroom—but he couldn’t see it, and it was with a surge of humiliation that Guang-Hong realized he might have to ask Leo for help.

Paling at the idea of seeming so pathetic and needy right away, Guang-Hong began to desperately rattle the doorknob, hoping that something would click into place, and to his surprise, it did. He tried twisting the doorknob, but it stayed put.

Guang-Hong sighed, but it wasn’t exactly relieved. Once he got out of the shower, he would have to figure out how to _unlock_ the door, but that was a problem for future him. He could cross that bridge once he got to it.

There was a much more urgent bridge just ahead, one that Guang-Hong revealed for himself when he pulled back the shower curtain and saw the most confusing shower setup he had ever seen in his life.

There were three knobs.

 _Three_ , all in a row between the faucet and the showerhead.

Guang-Hong braced himself with one hand over the edge of the washtub, reaching up with his other hand to turn the top knob; nothing happened. He turned the second one.

“AAAH!”

He quickly pushed the second knob back to its starting position, hair dropping onto his pajamas. That was _not_ his proudest moment. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting; it was obvious that one of the knobs would have started the water. He should have given the showerhead a wide berth to begin with.

He groaned and sank to his knees, letting his forehead fall against the edge of the tub.

“ _What am I doing here?_ ” he whimpered. It was a whim. Just a stupid whim. He’d seen the flyer at his school and he’d taken it without a second thought because he’d been in the right mood, because he’d been having a bad day, because he saw a chance to get away and he’d taken it. He’d had a million chances to change his mind between that point and the point where he’d gotten his plane ticket, but he didn’t. He held onto the idea of America and California and he didn’t know _why_ , even after that bad day ended and his parents asked him again and again why he was going halfway around the world.

And then he was _there_ , in a strange country with strange people in a strange bathroom with a European-style toilet and invisible locks and three knobs in the shower, where he got to experience all of the wonder and magic of sitting on the cold floor, dwelling on how he’d just made a fool of himself in front of a cute boy because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. And then he’d sprayed himself with water because he was too stupid to figure out the shower.

And there was no going back anymore. He couldn’t just hop on his bike and ride back to his house and tell his parents that he changed his mind. He was in America until May. End of story. Roll credits.

Guang-Hong lifted his head and stared blankly at the assortment of shampoo bottles on the far end of the tub. Deep down, he knew that part of the reason he felt so miserable was because he was tired, but that didn’t change the fact that he was stressed and embarrassed and he honestly just wanted to be back in his bedroom with his pink curtains and paw print stickers on the walls.

He sighed, leaning back and unbuttoning his pajama top without bothering to stand yet. From where he sat, he could see the blue and red line on the last of the three knobs indicating temperature. Just because he was stuck in America didn’t mean he was stuck on the bathroom floor. If he just got a chance to move around a little, maybe he’d start to feel better.

The shower did little to alleviate the miserable swirl in Guang-Hong’s stomach. He could feel it tying itself in knots when he reached the top of the steps and Leo came rushing to see him.

Part of Guang-Hong immediately wanted to slink back downstairs, crawl under Laura’s blankets, and not come out until the next day. Another part of him wanted to ignore any possible cultural faux pas and cling to Leo’s arm like a lost child because his warm, amiable nature provided a surprising amount of comfort despite the embarrassing note they’d parted on earlier that morning. Not to mention how chipper Leo was. Normally, Guang-Hong would find that kind of eagerness to greet the morning abrasive, especially when Guang-Hong himself couldn’t have wanted to see the sun less, but somehow, when it was _Leo_ who looked only a team of animators away from having a swarm of bluebirds flitting about his head while he sang a saccharine tune about dreams coming true, Guang-Hong just wanted to smile _with_ him.

Especially when he was holding waffles.

Guang-Hong’s gaze fell slowly to the plate in Leo’s hands, cautiously raising his own hands toward it when he finally registered that Leo was offering the plate.

 _Leo_ had made him _breakfast_.

That slow realization sent tingles up Guang-Hong’s spine. His stomach was still in knots, but he was slowly starting to feel a little silly that he’d just been inches from crying in the shower when all of _this_ was going on right upstairs.

“It looks delicious,” said Guang-Hong genuinely. _There_ was the smile, the one he’d felt creeping in the second he’d seen Leo jogging toward him. “Thank you.”

“Thank Mamá,” said Leo. “I just used the iron. Mamá was the one who did the hard part.”

Guang-Hong, who had only just noticed Elena on the far end of the table after Leo had mentioned her, sent his host mother a grateful, if sheepish, nod.

“But it was Leo’s idea to add the strawberries,” said Elena, making Guang-Hong’s chest tighten. Leo had been so thoughtful, and there Guang-Hong had been, thinking that visiting America was a mistake. Guilt added another knot to his already-twisted stomach. He might as well have been wishing he’d never met Leo just moments before.

“How are you feeling, Guang-Hong?” Elena’s question gave Guang-Hong a sudden worry that she could read minds. “How’s your first morning in America?”

The truth lingered on Guang-Hong’s tongue for just a moment before he settled on a hesitant, “I’m fine.”

Leo set a hand, warm and heavy, on Guang-Hong’s shoulder, making his heart leap into his throat.

“You sure?” asked Leo, eyebrows drawing together with visible concern.

“I’m sure,” said Guang-Hong tremulously.

Leo looked a bit unsatisfied with that answer, and Guang-Hong’s suspicions of that were quickly confirmed when Leo grabbed a chair and nearly shoved Guang-Hong right into it.

“Sit,” he coaxed, pushing down on Guang-Hong’s shoulders.

A quiet, timid squeak escaped Guang-Hong’s tightened throat before he’d had a chance to stop it. Still, it was quiet, so maybe Leo hadn’t heard it.

However, no sooner had Guang-Hong set his waffles on the table than Leo elicited another squeak out of him by scooting in his chair, and that squeak was much louder. There would have been no doubt that Leo had heard that one, even if he hadn’t laughed at it.

Guang-Hong wanted to bury his face in his waffles. Maybe if he did that, he could blame his red face on the strawberries. But at the same time, he knew a cruel laugh when he heard it, and Leo’s laugh wasn’t that. Not at all. Leo’s laugh was warm and sweet. Not at all like the laughter that caused Guang-Hong to pick up that exchange program flyer.

If Guang-Hong _were_ to hear a cruel laugh in America, he doubted it would be from Leo. He doubted Leo’s voice could even _make_ a sound like that. That sort of sound would have surprised Guang-Hong from any of the de la Iglesias, even Isabela.

If he did meet anyone in America with a laugh like that, it would probably be at school.

Another knot twisted itself into Guang-Hong’s stomach. Waffles suddenly didn’t sound as good anymore.

“Do you drink coffee?” asked Elena; Guang-Hong almost gagged.

“No, thank you,” he said, trying not to whine. He drank coffee sometimes. Rarely. But the very idea of something that acidic settling in his already-disagreeable stomach made Guang-Hong want to throw up. 

“What about milk, then?” asked Elena, who was already on her way to the fridge. “We have that, orange juice… Peach tea, if you want that, but it’s instant, so you might not like it. Water…”

Guang-Hong could already tell that Elena was just going to keep listing drinks until he chose one, so he latched onto the one that sounded healthiest.

“Um, juice sounds good.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he immediately regretted them.

Not for the first time that morning, he felt like an idiot, turning away coffee because it was too acidic only to agree to what essentially amounted to a glass of straight citric acid. No matter how much vitamin C was in that, Guang-Hong knew that he’d just picked the option that would make his stomach feel a thousand times queasier when it was already doing acrobatics.

Silently scolding himself, Guang-Hong took a deep breath and stared down at the strawberries he still hadn’t touched. _I have two more days until school starts,_ he told himself. _If I can just think about anything else until then, maybe I can still enjoy myself._

“So, Guang-Hong,” called Elena, interrupting Guang-Hong’s thoughts. “Are you ready for school?”

Guang-Hong wanted to cry.

Everything that could have gone wrong suddenly seemed to be going wrong.

“Do you have all of your supplies?” continued Elena as she poured out a glass of orange juice, utterly ignorant to the torment she’d just caused. “Or do we need to take a trip to the store before Monday?" 

“I have everything I need,” said Guang-Hong, his hand shaking imperceptibly (or he _hoped_ imperceptibly) as he reached for the whipped cream at the center of the table, hoping it would make the waffles that seemed so good earlier go down easier now that he had to fight an ever-strengthening storm brewing just beneath his ribcage. “Thank you for asking.”

“Don’t worry about being so formal,” said Leo, voice shockingly alert.

Guang-Hong flinched, nearly dropping the can back onto the table. Had Leo just been sitting back and observing this whole time? Guang-Hong had noticed how quiet he’d gone—of course he had, he’d lost his only real comfort when Leo had gone quiet—but he thought that it was just the morning having finally caught up with him. He thought Leo had been spacing out. But no, he’d been _listening_.

“We’re your family,” continued Leo. “At least for now. You can relax around us.”

Guang-Hong frowned at his plate again. Family… He picked at the skin of his bottom lip with his teeth. Leo would be at school with him. If Leo was serious about calling Guang-Hong his family, in any respect, maybe that meant he would stand up for Guang-Hong if he _was_ picked on. Guang-Hong looked back up at Leo, guiltily appraising him. The idea of being rescued by someone like _Leo_ was a fantasy for sure, but maybe it wasn’t too much for Guang-Hong to hope that he could go to Leo for comfort afterwards. That alone would make Guang-Hong’s school experience less terrifying than it had been in China.

A few of the knots in Guang-Hong’s stomach untied themselves. Whether it was wishful thinking or not, it was still comforting.

“I’ll try,” said Guang-Hong, and he meant it. He _would_ try to be a little more relaxed around the de la Iglesias; if Leo was just as kind to him at school as he was at home, it wouldn’t be hard to trust him in the least. “Thank you,” said Guang-Hong, at first thinking nothing of it. Then, remembering Leo’s request for him to be less formal, he amended his words. “ _Thanks_.” The word sat oddly in his mouth, too informal perhaps, or just too colloquial, but Guang-Hong was sure he would get used to it in time.

Apparently satisfied with that answer, Leo returned to his waffles. Guang-Hong was tempted to say something, to keep the conversation between them going by whatever means necessary, but Elena separated them with the glass of orange juice she’d been pouring and whatever it was that Guang-Hong was trying so hard to hold onto was gone.

“I’m ready for school, too,” said the woman, returning to her own chair.

Guang-Hong raised his eyebrows. _School…?_ Was she a late-bloomer college student?

“I teach,” said Elena, almost as if she’d heard Guang-Hong’s question before he’d had a chance to voice it. “Not at the school you’re going to. At SFSU. Classes there start on Monday as well.”

 _SFSU…?_ thought Guang-Hong, trying not to gape. _A university? She’s a_ professor _?_

“Oh,” was all he said aloud, trying to keep his awe to a minimum. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting Elena to do for a living, but teaching at a university was not it. How were all of the de la Iglesias so impressive?

“What do you teach?” asked Guang-Hong. He took an absent swig of his orange juice, too enthralled by Elena to pay attention to what he was doing, and he flinched at the taste.

 _Right_ , he thought. _Acid_. The very thing he’d been trying to avoid. His stomach certainly wasn’t twisting quite so much as it had been just moments before but Guang-Hong still felt a bit queasy, perhaps as much from lack of sleep as from worry. The last thing he needed was _orange juice_.

“Physics,” answered Elena, easily pulling Guang-Hong’s attention back to her.

This time, Guang-Hong didn’t bother keeping the awe off his face. From someone like Elena, he’d expected something like literature or history. Definitely not _physics_. “Really?” he gasped. “That’s so _cool_.” She _was_ cool. _Leo_ was cool. _Enrique was cool_. The whole de la Iglesia family was cool. It was _unreal_.

“Don’t tell her that,” said Leo, pointing a fork at his mother, though his playful smirk was directed at Guang-Hong. “She’s got a big enough head. She doesn’t need your help.”

Guang-Hong blinked, utterly taken aback. _A big head? What does_ that _mean?_ Surely Leo wasn’t calling his mother ugly. That didn’t make contextual sense in the slightest.

“Hush, Leo,” said Elena, who sounded far from angry, confirming what Guang-Hong suspected about Leo’s comment, that it had nothing to do with appearance. “It _is_ cool. Enrique thinks it’s cool. He followed in my footsteps, didn’t he?”

Guang-Hong hadn’t thought his eyes could widen any further until they had. Was Enrique a professor, too?

“He runs a science web series,” explained Leo. Just like earlier with Elena, Guang-Hong almost wondered whether Leo could read minds. He hoped not. He _desperately_ hoped not. If Leo ever found out all the things Guang-Hong thought of him already… It was too embarrassing for Guang-Hong to even consider. “Like educational videos about engineering. I’m surrounded by nerds.” The way Leo spoke, it sounded like he was annoyed and proud at the same time. It was an odd sort of affectionate. Like he was obligated to tease his family no matter how much he cared about them. _Strange_.

“Everyone is a nerd about something,” said Elena dismissively. “For example, you’re a figure skating nerd.”

“It’s true,” admitted Leo. Guang-Hong smiled at his almost _wistful_ submission. “Speaking of which—”

Elena rattled off some very quick Spanish, cutting Leo short and making Guang-Hong jump in his chair so violently that it squeaked along the floor. He shrank, feeling almost like Elena would turn her scowl and her chastising on _him_ if he wasn’t careful. That was the last thing Guang-Hong wanted; her disapproval was scary enough at Leo, no matter how well Leo seemed to be taking it.

“I wasn’t going to, Mamá,” groaned Leo, making Guang-Hong wonder exactly what it was that he wasn’t going to do. “I was just going to ask if Guang-Hong had seen _The King and the Skater_.”

Guang-Hong straightened his back again instantly. _The King and the Skater_ was Phichit Chulanont’s favorite movie. Every one of his fans knew that. It was hard not to when he quoted it on social media all the time.

“I haven’t,” admitted Guang-Hong. “I’ve heard of it. I know all the words to ‘Shall We Skate’ and I know Phichit Chulanont likes it a lot, but I’ve never actually watched it.” He glanced down at his lap. “I’ve always wanted to, but I’ve never been able to find it anywhere.” Not legitimately, anyway. And boy, had he looked. Electronics stores, movie rentals… No luck.

“We’re gonna fix that,” said Leo. “Today.” He sounded just as excited as Guang-Hong suddenly felt. “Fair warning, though: It’s cheesy.”

Guang-Hong smiled and finally cut out a piece of one of his waffles, scooping it up with a slice of strawberry. “Good,” he said, his anxieties temporarily forgotten in the face of such a perfect distraction. “I like cheesy.”

A return to the basement meant a return to the cold. Guang-Hong was not looking forward to that experience.

Leo seemed to notice as much, because before they’d even started the movie, he disappeared back up the stairs for a few minutes and returned with a small blanket.

“Here,” he said, standing in front of where Guang-Hong had seated himself on the couch. “You look like you’re about to freeze solid.”

Guang-Hong looked at the blanket perhaps a moment too long, chewing his lip, before shaking his head.

“No thanks,” he said, forcing himself to stick to informal speech. “Being cold will keep me awake.”

Leo frowned, but he didn’t say anything against Guang-Hong’s decision. He simply tossed the blanket over the back of the couch and said, “I’m leaving it here if you need it, all right? Just reach back and grab it if you get too cold.”

“Okay.” Guang-Hong wrapped his arms around his middle and pressed himself back into the couch cushions, watching Leo contentedly as he made his way to the entertainment center and kneeled in front of it.

Then there was a growl, and the contented smile that had been on Guang-Hong’s face melted off as easily as ice down a sun-cooked metal slide.

_Was that…?_

Leo lowered his head, peering into the dark cubby hole under the television. “’Morning, Lucy,” he greeted casually.

Guang-Hong’s heart gave a lurch, and his body soon afterward, lunging from the couch to the floor and pulling himself along the carpet to where Leo sat.

“She’s still in there?” he wailed guiltily, lowering himself as close to the floor as he could get without lying down and peering inside. Sure enough, two gold-green dots glimmered back at him like traffic lights through a rain-splattered windshield.

“What, since yesterday?” Leo patted Guang-Hong’s shoulder. “It has nothing to do with that, I promise. This is just where she likes to lurk.”

Guang-Hong lifted his head uncertainly, turning to face Leo, eyes still wide with concern. “You’re sure?” he asked anxiously.

“Positive,” said Leo, smiling. “She spends half her life in there, trying to slap anyone who gets too close to the movie drawer. Don’t worry about her.” He reached underneath the aforementioned drawer and carefully used his fingernails to slide it out of place. The act seemed bizarrely practiced, as if Leo had been doing that for years.

Two even columns of DVD cases appeared from beneath the guarded cubby hole. Row after row of titles rolled out, the spine of each case flush with the top of the drawer. Lucy was still growling, defensive of her perch, even as Leo yanked a case from the left column. Guang-Hong heard a few dull thumps from inside the entertainment center, most likely a tail whipping against the wood.

“All right,” said Leo, nudging the drawer closed, or at least mostly closed. That push had only gotten the edge of the drawer most of the way to Lucy’s carefully-guarded borders, and it seemed Leo had no desire to trespass any further.

Guang-Hong peered down at the DVD case in Leo’s hand. If he hadn’t already been told that the movie was cheesy, the case would have done it for him. Two men stood back-to-back on the front cover, arms crossed over their chests. One seemed to be dressed in exactly the type of clothing Guang-Hong expected from a movie he’d thought was set in 19th century Thailand, but the other man…

“Is this…” Guang-Hong’s brow furrowed and he tilted his head, trying to make absolutely sure that what he was looking at was indeed a long-sleeved t-shirt and track pants. “Is this about time travel?”

“Yes,” said Leo, transferring the case to his opposite hand and popping it open. “Sort of. You’ll see.” He nodded back at the couch. “Go sit down. I’ll get it set up here.”

Already interested, Guang-Hong rushed back to the couch and sat down, leaning forward and waiting impatiently for Leo to join him.

Leo had barely reached the opposite end of the couch when the movie opened on a young man skating a program in the center of a rink. The music, a melancholy piano tune accompanied by strings, had already pierced Guang-Hong’s heart and stolen his attention by the end of the first bar.

Initially, he thought that the skater was just practicing by himself, but slowly, the angles of the camera changed to catch the stands around the rink, revealing a full audience.

Barely more than a minute of the movie had begun to play, opening credits were still fading in and out of the corners, and Guang-Hong was already attached to this character, already cheering for him.

And then he fell.

The piano melody disappeared, leaving the string accompaniment lonely as the cinematography focused on the protagonist’s face. He wasn’t crying, he wasn’t angry or frustrated, he just looked…hollow.

The screen faded to black, string still holding onto the mood, and the title of the movie engraved itself into the blackness.

_The King and the Skater._

Guang-Hong felt goosebumps blossom across the back of his neck.

How could he have waited so long to watch this?

The figure skater’s name, as it turned out, was Arthur Stuart. He was a young man from Manchester, England who had lost his zest for life. He was friendless, found happiness in very little… He lived with his parents, but felt a disconnect from them… He felt unfulfilled, like he was living a life that was written for someone else…

…and Guang-Hong felt like he was looking into a mirror.

The first sign that the movie was a musical, the first song that Arthur actually sang, nearly had Guang-Hong in tears. He fought them off, thankfully having not been sucked far enough into the film to forget that Leo was right beside him, but it was a near thing.

And then came the inciting incident, the point of no return, the moment in every movie, every story, where the protagonist’s life changes irrevocably and he has no option but to move forward.

That moment for Arthur came in the form of a card he drew from a seemingly innocuous deck. The card began to glow in his hands, and Guang-Hong was on the edge of his seat. Somehow, he hadn’t put together that the movie was a fantasy until that moment, even with Leo’s warning that it “sort of” had time travel.

Even with the fantasy elements, though, Guang-Hong still felt the same connection with Arthur’s character. Maybe it wasn’t in a different time, but America certainly felt like a different world.

The connection felt all the stronger when Arthur first met the King.

Guang-Hong’s heart skipped a beat. He’d watched and analyzed enough movies, he recognized the cinematography, the key change in the music, the focus on the characters’ eyes as they looked at each other for the first time. He knew what it all meant in every other movie Guang-Hong had seen it in. Every single thing that Guang-Hong knew about movies cumulated into only one possible conclusion.

The King was Arthur’s _love interest_.

Guang-Hong swallowed. He knew he wasn’t imagining it, but he did have to wonder whether it was intentional or not.

But the more the King and Arthur’s relationship developed, the more sure Guang-Hong was. _The King and the Skater_ had to be a romance. There were too many private moments, too many lingering touches, and Guang-Hong found himself barely containing wistful sighs with every longing glance they sent one another. Some of the sighs he couldn’t contain at all.

In all the movies in Guang-Hong’s entire movie-watching background, he’d never seen a same-sex romance play out on screen before.

And it was done well. The movie, while certainly as cheesy as Leo had warned, didn’t fall into cliché traps like the “liar revealed” trope, where characters become irrationally angry when they realize they’ve been fooled, no matter what a character’s reason for lying was. When Arthur told the king where he was really from, the King, while surprised, accepted it easily. Not only that, but the conversation invited Arthur and the King to talk more openly about themselves. Arthur’s show of trust and honesty had actually strengthened their bond rather than broken it, and the only thing that stopped Guang-Hong from raising his fists in triumph was the fact that Leo was right beside him.

What was more, the strengthened relationship between Arthur and the King had given the King the idea of ice dancing together. That culmination of their relationship actually might have made Guang-Hong scream aloud, Leo beside him or not, if it wasn’t for one thing.

That was the scene where Arthur began to sing _Shall We Skate_.

Guang-Hong’s eyes widened. He’d almost forgotten that he wasn’t watching any old movie, but rather one that had been woven into his life for as long as he could remember. Skater after skater after skater had used one particular song from this one particular movie for their short programs, and now, for the first time, Guang-Hong was hearing the song in its original context. It was exceedingly familiar, but at the same time, having watched the story behind the song play out made the song mean so much more. It felt so natural in Guang-Hong’s ears that he didn’t even feel himself singing along with it. At least, not until—

“ _SPINNING AROUND LIKE THE DICE!_ ”

Until Leo joined in.

Guang-Hong yelped, jumping almost on top of the armrest he’d been leaning against in his desire to get as far away from Leo as possibly, hands clapped over his own traitorous mouth.

He’d been _singing_. In front of _Leo_ of all people.

That made two times he’d humiliated himself in front of Leo de la Iglesia in one morning.

He wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he spluttered, pulling his hands just far enough away from his mouth to speak, not daring to lower them and lose what little of a hiding place he’d made. Leo began to lean closer. Were Guang-Hong not shaking so much, he would have reached up and hidden his eyes behind his hands as well, like a child. “I d-didn’t even realize I was—”

“Why’d you stop?” asked Leo, nudging Guang-Hong’s arm with a reassuring smile on his face.

Guang-Hong stared. He wasn’t sure what to say at all. He tried to figure something out, but every half-formed idea for speech that entered his mind was either stupid or plain embarrassing, so none of them actually turned into words, resulting in Guang-Hong’s mouth hanging open, prepared to say words that would never be said.

“You were having fun,” pressed Leo, half-scooting, half-crawling closer. “I could tell.”

“But…” Guang-Hong swallowed. He had no idea how to handle a situation like this. He knew Leo wasn’t trying to embarrass him on purpose. He was still being nice. But it _was_ embarrassing, regardless of the intent. “I didn’t mean t-to…”

“Come on,” said Leo, his hands ever-so-gently wrapping around Guang-Hong’s wrists and tugging them downward so that nothing was between their faces. Guang-Hong’s heart thundered in his ears like too-loud bass from the closed windows of a passing car, louder than the music from the television. “We’ll sing it together. That way you won’t be embarrassed, right?”

“U-Um…” Guang-Hong’s eyes darted to the far wall, focusing on the back of what looked like a large picture frame that had been flipped over. That wouldn’t make it any less embarrassing, no. Not at all. Guang-Hong knew he would just be comparing himself to Leo if he heard Leo singing along with him. Everything inside of him was screaming to protest, to tell Leo there was no way he could sing in front of someone.

But he was too late. Leo had already started singing.

“ _Shall we skate?_ ” he serenaded, a whisper compared to the cheerful chanting from the movie. His hands slid down Guang-Hong’s arms, toward his open palms. The goosebumps were back.

Guang-Hong took a deep breath, closing his eyes so he at least didn’t have to look directly into Leo’s gentle brown eyes during his endeavor. There was no getting out of it. Leo was waiting for him. He would have to join in.

“ _Let yourself go with music…_ ” He flipped his hands over to meet Leo’s, finding comfort in the strength of Leo’s hands when he returned Guang-Hong’s tight squeezing.

“ _Spinning around like the dice…_ ”

They were really singing together, just like Arthur and the King were skating together on the screen just a few feet away. Guang-Hong wondered…if he were the main character of a film, would the director have made the moment he met Leo just as powerful and impactful as Arthur meeting the King? Would it have that same cinematography, that same key change in the score?

“ _Shall we skate?_ ”

Of course, that was different. What Guang-Hong felt for Leo wasn’t quite a crush. Sure, Guang-Hong found Leo attractive, but there was a difference between finding someone cute and the fluttering stomachs or sweaty palms that came with a real crush.

“ _Your dreams will come true if you believe…_ ”

The twisting of _his_ stomach was just because he was still a little nervous about being in a new country, even if he’d mostly forgotten about that with the movie.

“ _Like a magical trading card game…_ ”

And the sweating of his palms was just because he was holding Leo’s hands. The sweat could have easily been Leo’s for all he knew.

“ _Shall we skate with me…_ ”

Guang-Hong swore that it was all situational.

“ _Listen to the music…_ ”

He _couldn’t_ have a crush on Leo because they’d _only just met_.

“ _Shall we skate with me?_ ”

He couldn’t because they’d made fast friends. Because Guang-Hong had never been so close to anyone before, despite how recently they’d met. Because Guang-Hong wouldn’t _dare_ do _anything_ to damage that.

 _Because I just can’t!_ swore Guang-Hong, squeezing his eyes as tightly closed as they could possibly go, wrinkling his nose and sparking a headache.

“ _Come step out with us!_ ”

With some difficulty, Guang-Hong opened one eye, and he found Leo looking back at him like all of his dreams had come true at once.

Guang-Hong’s heart most certainly did _not_ skip a beat. And if it _did_ , that was only because Leo was undeniably cute and not for any deeper reason. After all, there wasn’t any rule saying that Guang-Hong couldn’t admire his friend’s smile. A chuckle slipped out of him, something somewhere between awkward, flustered, and giddy. Leo _did_ have a nice smile. A really nice one. 

That very smile softened, and Leo said nothing as he pulled away, leaving Guang-Hong immediately wishing for his warmth to return to his hands. _Just_ because it was cold in the basement, of course.

Guang-Hong quickly turned his attention back to the television, and he found it incredibly easy to push aside the argument he’d been having with himself in favor of what was happening to Arthur and the King. It would have been impossible to not get sucked back in, considering the palace was suddenly on fire. Guang-Hong’s eyes widened, and he inched closer to the edge of his seat. It happened so quickly and he’d been so distracted that he had no clue exactly how the fire had started, but it was certainly a worthy enough distraction.

Guang-Hong _was_ hooked again, but that didn’t completely stop him from looking at Leo through the corner of his eye every few minutes. Maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed like he caught Leo staring back, too. Just every once in a while, if that was really what he saw.

But Leo still didn’t have Guang-Hong’s full attention until the credits began to roll.

“I’m surprised,” said Guang-Hong quietly, pulling one of his feet onto the couch with him and hugging it to his chest, resting his chin on his knee.

“About what?” asked Leo.

“A few things,” said Guang-Hong, rolling his face to the side and resting his cheek on the top of his knee. “I…” He frowned thoughtfully. Arthur and the King never kissed or exchanged a single proper “I love you,” so maybe it wasn’t the intention, but… “I wasn’t expecting it to be a romance.”

“That’s because it’s not,” said Leo, brightening. “ _Technically_.”

“How is it not?” asked Guang-Hong, sitting straighter again. “They were…” He trailed off. He knew how it could come across as less than a romance, but he didn’t want to face it. Every tiny detail hinted that there was more between the two characters than friendship alone, but maybe it took a movie enthusiast to recognize that. And if Leo didn’t see it that way, then he didn’t want to say too much.

“I _know_ ,” said Leo so emphatically that he leaned into his words, an eager grin on his face. “ _Everyone_ knows.”

Guang-Hong smiled, relaxing in his relief, his grip loosening on his leg. “Really?”

Leo nodded. “Oh, yeah. There are still a few people out there who refuse to see it just because the characters are both men, but that doesn’t make it any less obvious, even if the writers won’t say anything one way or another.”

The makers were keeping quiet, even when so many fans wanted to know? Guang-Hong frowned. “That’s…”

“Dumb?” offered Leo, smirking. “Oh, yeah. Not even any of the cast has ever said anything, even on AMAs, so I don’t think we’re ever getting a confirmation.” He rolled his eyes, but quickly turned them back on Guang-Hong. “So what else surprised you?”

“That he never went home,” said Guang-Hong easily. Easier than he thought it would be. Leo was just easy to talk to. “Most stories like this one end with the hero going back to his old life and facing it with…” He frowned. What was the English word? “…new energy?” That wasn’t really it, but Guang-Hong was satisfied that it was close enough. “But not this one.”

“That surprised me the first time I saw it, too,” said Leo. “But when you think about it, doesn’t it make sense for Arthur to stay? There was nothing there for him back home. Everything he cared about was a part of the kingdom. He had nothing to go back to, so why go at all?”

“That’s…” Guang-Hong thought of his parents back home in Shanghai, and he imagined, just for a moment, never seeing them again, and just for that moment, he felt the homesickness he’d felt earlier rush back into him. “…true, I guess. But what about his family? Won’t they miss him?”

“Maybe,” said Leo, shrugging, “but he made a new family in the palace, and they’d miss him, too.”

Guang-Hong frowned down at the couch cushion beneath him. He was already wondering how it would feel in May to go back to his parents, back to his home, but to leave his host family behind. Would he be just as conflicted as he was sure Arthur was when he’d shelved the card that would have taken him home? Was it possible for Guang-Hong to become that close to his host family in only a matter of months? 

“Besides,” said Leo, bringing Guang-Hong out of his contemplation. “If he went back, we wouldn’t have the sequel.”

Guang-Hong’s eyes widened and he dropped his foot back down on the floor so quickly that it sent a shock up his leg and into his knee. “There’s a sequel?!”

Laughing, Leo stood from the couch and, avoiding the tiny black paw that swatted out of his hand when it got too close, pulled a second movie out of the same drawer he’d gotten the first out of.

“Tah-dah,” he said, showing off a blue case with a large, white “II” at the top, a proud smile on Leo’s face. “Ready for part two of our movie marathon?”

“Please,” begged Guang-Hong, who was so close to the edge of his seat that he barely needed it at all.

Leo laughed warmly. “All right.” And then he said something that made Guang-Hong both want to bury his face in his hands with a disappointed sigh _and_ jump across the open floor to give Leo a hug: “We shall skate.”

Guang-Hong knew that if he’d had a pillow on hand, he would have thrown it, but at the same time, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face as Leo slipped the next disk into the DVD player and the next movie began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my amazing beta Fiorelily. She helps so much, you guys. You have no idea.
> 
> Also, I wouldn't feel right not giving a shout out to Maracachin for being a constant source of support for me when it comes to writing this fic and just...in general. I know you're reading this, and you help me more than you know.
> 
> As an aside, someone called partlycloudii made a really cute bookmark caption and I have no way of thanking that person aside from saying thanks here, so... Thank you. You're adorable.
> 
> And thanks again to everyone who talked about Christmas and other holiday traditions in the comments of the last chapter.
> 
> As always, tell me if you catch a grammatical or cultural mistake. Don't let me get away with either of those things, especially the latter.
> 
> This Chapter's Discussion Topic: Did anyone here go to prom, or are we all too big of nerds to have gone? I know I was, hahah. But come on, some of you have to have gone. [But only talk about it if you're comfortable. No pressure. I might do something prom-related in this fic, I might not. I'm still on the fence about it. But information would be nice either way.]


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